THE GADFLY

By E. L. Voynich

"What have we to do with Thee, Thou Jesus of Nazareth?"

AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 

 MY most cordial thanks are due to the many persons who helped me to collect, in Italy, the materials for this story. I am especially indebted to the officials of the Marucelliana Library of Florence, and of the State Archives and Civic Museum of Bologna, for their courtesy and kindness. 

THE GADFLY

PART I. 

CHAPTER I. 

Arthur sat in the library of the theological seminary at Pisa, lookingthrough a pile of manuscript sermons. It was a hot evening in June, andthe windows stood wide open, with the shutters half closed for coolness. The Father Director, Canon Montanelli, paused a moment in his writing toglance lovingly at the black head bent over the papers. 

"Can't you find it, carino? Never mind; I must rewrite the passage. Possibly it has got torn up, and I have kept you all this time fornothing. "

Montanelli's voice was rather low, but full and resonant, with a silverypurity of tone that gave to his speech a peculiar charm. It was thevoice of a born orator, rich in possible modulations. When he spoke toArthur its note was always that of a caress. 

"No, Padre, I must find it; I'm sure you put it here. You will nevermake it the same by rewriting. "

Montanelli went on with his work. A sleepy cockchafer hummed drowsilyoutside the window, and the long, melancholy call of a fruitsellerechoed down the street: "Fragola! fragola!"

"'On the Healing of the Leper'; here it is. " Arthur came across the roomwith the velvet tread that always exasperated the good folk at home. He was a slender little creature, more like an Italian in asixteenth-century portrait than a middle-class English lad of thethirties. From the long eyebrows and sensitive mouth to the small handsand feet, everything about him was too much chiseled, overdelicate. Sitting still, he might have been taken for a very pretty girlmasquerading in male attire; but when he moved, his lithe agilitysuggested a tame panther without the claws. 

"Is that really it? What should I do without you, Arthur? I shouldalways be losing my things. No, I am not going to write any more now. Come out into the garden, and I will help you with your work. What isthe bit you couldn't understand?"

They went out into the still, shadowy cloister garden. The seminaryoccupied the buildings of an old Dominican monastery, and two hundredyears ago the square courtyard had been stiff and trim, and the rosemaryand lavender had grown in close-cut bushes between the straight boxedgings. Now the white-robed monks who had tended them were laid awayand forgotten; but the scented herbs flowered still in the graciousmid-summer evening, though no man gathered their blossoms for simplesany more. Tufts of wild parsley and columbine filled the cracks betweenthe flagged footways, and the well in the middle of the courtyard wasgiven up to ferns and matted stone-crop. The roses had run wild, andtheir straggling suckers trailed across the paths; in the box bordersflared great red poppies; tall foxgloves drooped above the tangledgrasses; and the old vine, untrained and barren of fruit, swayed fromthe branches of the neglected medlar-tree, shaking a leafy head withslow and sad persistence. 

In one corner stood a huge summer-flowering magnolia, a tower of darkfoliage, splashed here and there with milk-white blossoms. A roughwooden bench had been placed against the trunk; and on this Montanellisat down. Arthur was studying philosophy at the university; and, coming to a difficulty with a book, had applied to "the Padre" for anexplanation of the point. Montanelli was a universal encyclopaedia tohim, though he had never been a pupil of the seminary. 

"I had better go now, " he said when the passage had been cleared up;"unless you want me for anything. "

"I don't want to work any more, but I should like you to stay a bit ifyou have time. "

"Oh, yes!" He leaned back against the tree-trunk and looked up throughthe dusky branches at the first faint stars glimmering in a quietsky. The dreamy, mystical eyes, deep blue under black lashes, were aninheritance from his Cornish mother, and Montanelli turned his headaway, that he might not see them. 

"You are looking tired, carino, " he said. 

"I can't help it. " There was a weary sound in Arthur's voice, and thePadre noticed it at once. 

"You should not have gone up to college so soon; you were tired out withsick-nursing and being up at night. I ought to have insisted on yourtaking a thorough rest before you left Leghorn. "

"Oh, Padre, what's the use of that? I couldn't stop in that miserablehouse after mother died. Julia would have driven me mad!"

Julia was his eldest step-brother's wife, and a thorn in his side. 

"I should not have wished you to stay with your relatives, " Montanellianswered gently. "I am sure it would have been the worst possible thingfor you. But I wish you could have accepted the invitation of yourEnglish doctor friend; if you had spent a month in his house you wouldhave been more fit to study. "

"No, Padre, I shouldn't indeed! The Warrens are very good and kind, butthey don't understand; and then they are sorry for me, --I can see itin all their faces, --and they would try to console me, and talk aboutmother. Gemma wouldn't, of course; she always knew what not to say, evenwhen we were babies; but the others would. And it isn't only that----"

"What is it then, my son?"

Arthur pulled off some blossoms from a drooping foxglove stem andcrushed them nervously in his hand. 

"I can't bear the town, " he began after a moment's pause. "There are theshops where she used to buy me toys when I was a little thing, and thewalk along the shore where I used to take her until she got too ill. Wherever I go it's the same thing; every market-girl comes up to mewith bunches of flowers--as if I wanted them now! And there's thechurch-yard--I had to get away; it made me sick to see the place----"

He broke off and sat tearing the foxglove bells to pieces. The silencewas so long and deep that he looked up, wondering why the Padre didnot speak. It was growing dark under the branches of the magnolia, andeverything seemed dim and indistinct; but there was light enough to showthe ghastly paleness of Montanelli's face. He was bending his headdown, his right hand tightly clenched upon the edge of the bench. Arthurlooked away with a sense of awe-struck wonder. It was as though he hadstepped unwittingly on to holy ground. 

"My God!" he thought; "how small and selfish I am beside him! If mytrouble were his own he couldn't feel it more. "

Presently Montanelli raised his head and looked round. "I won't pressyou to go back there; at all events, just now, " he said in his mostcaressing tone; "but you must promise me to take a thorough rest whenyour vacation begins this summer. I think you had better get a holidayright away from the neighborhood of Leghorn. I can't have you breakingdown in health. "

"Where shall you go when the seminary closes, Padre?"

"I shall have to take the pupils into the hills, as usual, and see themsettled there. But by the middle of August the subdirector will beback from his holiday. I shall try to get up into the Alps for a littlechange. Will you come with me? I could take you for some long mountainrambles, and you would like to study the Alpine mosses and lichens. Butperhaps it would be rather dull for you alone with me?"

"Padre!" Arthur clasped his hands in what Julia called his"demonstrative foreign way. " "I would give anything on earth to go awaywith you. Only--I am not sure----" He stopped. 

"You don't think Mr. Burton would allow it?"

"He wouldn't like it, of course, but he could hardly interfere. Iam eighteen now and can do what I choose. After all, he's only mystep-brother; I don't see that I owe him obedience. He was always unkindto mother. "

"But if he seriously objects, I think you had better not defy hiswishes; you may find your position at home made much harder if----"

"Not a bit harder!" Arthur broke in passionately. "They always did hateme and always will--it doesn't matter what I do. Besides, how can Jamesseriously object to my going away with you--with my father confessor?"

"He is a Protestant, remember. However, you had better write to him, andwe will wait to hear what he thinks. But you must not be impatient, myson; it matters just as much what you do, whether people hate you orlove you. "

The rebuke was so gently given that Arthur hardly coloured under it. "Yes, I know, " he answered, sighing; "but it is so difficult----"

"I was sorry you could not come to me on Tuesday evening, " Montanellisaid, abruptly introducing a new subject. "The Bishop of Arezzo washere, and I should have liked you to meet him. "

"I had promised one of the students to go to a meeting at his lodgings, and they would have been expecting me. "

"What sort of meeting?"

Arthur seemed embarrassed by the question. "It--it was n-not a r-regularmeeting, " he said with a nervous little stammer. "A student had comefrom Genoa, and he made a speech to us--a-a sort of--lecture. "

"What did he lecture about?"

Arthur hesitated. "You won't ask me his name, Padre, will you? Because Ipromised----"

"I will ask you no questions at all, and if you have promised secrecy ofcourse you must not tell me; but I think you can almost trust me by thistime. "

"Padre, of course I can. He spoke about--us and our duty to thepeople--and to--our own selves; and about--what we might do to help----"

"To help whom?"

"The contadini--and----"

"And?"

"Italy. "

There was a long silence. 

"Tell me, Arthur, " said Montanelli, turning to him and speaking verygravely, "how long have you been thinking about this?"

"Since--last winter. "

"Before your mother's death? And did she know of it?"

"N-no. I--I didn't care about it then. "

"And now you--care about it?"

Arthur pulled another handful of bells off the foxglove. 

"It was this way, Padre, " he began, with his eyes on the ground. "When Iwas preparing for the entrance examination last autumn, I got to knowa good many of the students; you remember? Well, some of them began totalk to me about--all these things, and lent me books. But I didn't caremuch about it; I always wanted to get home quick to mother. You see, shewas quite alone among them all in that dungeon of a house; and Julia'stongue was enough to kill her. Then, in the winter, when she got so ill, I forgot all about the students and their books; and then, you know, Ileft off coming to Pisa altogether. I should have talked to mother ifI had thought of it; but it went right out of my head. Then I found outthat she was going to die----You know, I was almost constantly with hertowards the end; often I would sit up the night, and Gemma Warren wouldcome in the day to let me get to sleep. Well, it was in those longnights; I got thinking about the books and about what the students hadsaid--and wondering--whether they were right and--what--Our Lord wouldhave said about it all. "

"Did you ask Him?" Montanelli's voice was not quite steady. 

"Often, Padre. Sometimes I have prayed to Him to tell me what I must do, or to let me die with mother. But I couldn't find any answer. "

"And you never said a word to me. Arthur, I hoped you could have trustedme. "

"Padre, you know I trust you! But there are some things you can't talkabout to anyone. I--it seemed to me that no one could help me--not evenyou or mother; I must have my own answer straight from God. You see, itis for all my life and all my soul. "

Montanelli turned away and stared into the dusky gloom of the magnoliabranches. The twilight was so dim that his figure had a shadowy look, like a dark ghost among the darker boughs. 

"And then?" he asked slowly. 

"And then--she died. You know, I had been up the last three nights withher----"

He broke off and paused a moment, but Montanelli did not move. 

"All those two days before they buried her, " Arthur went on in a lowervoice, "I couldn't think about anything. Then, after the funeral, I wasill; you remember, I couldn't come to confession. "

"Yes; I remember. "

"Well, in the night I got up and went into mother's room. It was allempty; there was only the great crucifix in the alcove. And I thoughtperhaps God would help me. I knelt down and waited--all night. And inthe morning when I came to my senses--Padre, it isn't any use; I can'texplain. I can't tell you what I saw--I hardly know myself. But I knowthat God has answered me, and that I dare not disobey Him. "

For a moment they sat quite silent in the darkness. Then Montanelliturned and laid his hand on Arthur's shoulder. 

"My son, " he said, "God forbid that I should say He has not spoken toyour soul. But remember your condition when this thing happened, and donot take the fancies of grief or illness for His solemn call. And if, indeed, it has been His will to answer you out of the shadow of death, be sure that you put no false construction on His word. What is thisthing you have it in your heart to do?"

Arthur stood up and answered slowly, as though repeating a catechism:

"To give up my life to Italy, to help in freeing her from all thisslavery and wretchedness, and in driving out the Austrians, that she maybe a free republic, with no king but Christ. "

"Arthur, think a moment what you are saying! You are not even anItalian. "

"That makes no difference; I am myself. I have seen this thing, and Ibelong to it. "

There was silence again. 

"You spoke just now of what Christ would have said----" Montanelli beganslowly; but Arthur interrupted him:

"Christ said: 'He that loseth his life for my sake shall find it. '"

Montanelli leaned his arm against a branch, and shaded his eyes with onehand. 

"Sit down a moment, my son, " he said at last. 

Arthur sat down, and the Padre took both his hands in a strong andsteady clasp. 

"I cannot argue with you to-night, " he said; "this has come upon me sosuddenly--I had not thought--I must have time to think it over. Later onwe will talk more definitely. But, for just now, I want you to rememberone thing. If you get into trouble over this, if you--die, you willbreak my heart. "

"Padre----"

"No; let me finish what I have to say. I told you once that I have noone in the world but you. I think you do not fully understand what thatmeans. It is difficult when one is so young; at your age I should nothave understood. Arthur, you are as my--as my--own son to me. Do yousee? You are the light of my eyes and the desire of my heart. I woulddie to keep you from making a false step and ruining your life. Butthere is nothing I can do. I don't ask you to make any promises to me; Ionly ask you to remember this, and to be careful. Think well beforeyou take an irrevocable step, for my sake, if not for the sake of yourmother in heaven. "

"I will think--and--Padre, pray for me, and for Italy. "

He knelt down in silence, and in silence Montanelli laid his hand on thebent head. A moment later Arthur rose, kissed the hand, and went softlyaway across the dewy grass. Montanelli sat alone under the magnoliatree, looking straight before him into the blackness. 

"It is the vengeance of God that has fallen upon me, " he thought, "as itfell upon David. I, that have defiled His sanctuary, and taken the Bodyof the Lord into polluted hands, --He has been very patient with me, andnow it is come. 'For thou didst it secretly, but I will do this thingbefore all Israel, and before the sun; THE CHILD THAT IS BORN UNTO THEESHALL SURELY DIE. '"

CHAPTER II. 

MR. JAMES BURTON did not at all like the idea of his young step-brother"careering about Switzerland" with Montanelli. But positively to forbida harmless botanizing tour with an elderly professor of theology wouldseem to Arthur, who knew nothing of the reason for the prohibition, absurdly tyrannical. He would immediately attribute it to religious orracial prejudice; and the Burtons prided themselves on theirenlightened tolerance. The whole family had been staunch Protestantsand Conservatives ever since Burton & Sons, ship-owners, of London andLeghorn, had first set up in business, more than a century back. Butthey held that English gentlemen must deal fairly, even with Papists;and when the head of the house, finding it dull to remain a widower, hadmarried the pretty Catholic governess of his younger children, the twoelder sons, James and Thomas, much as they resented the presence ofa step-mother hardly older than themselves, had submitted with sulkyresignation to the will of Providence. Since the father's death theeldest brother's marriage had further complicated an already difficultposition; but both brothers had honestly tried to protect Gladys, aslong as she lived, from Julia's merciless tongue, and to do their duty, as they understood it, by Arthur. They did not even pretend to like thelad, and their generosity towards him showed itself chiefly in providinghim with lavish supplies of pocket money and allowing him to go his ownway. 

In answer to his letter, accordingly, Arthur received a cheque tocover his expenses and a cold permission to do as he pleased abouthis holidays. He expended half his spare cash on botanical books andpressing-cases, and started off with the Padre for his first Alpineramble. 

Montanelli was in lighter spirits than Arthur had seen him in for a longwhile. After the first shock of the conversation in the garden he hadgradually recovered his mental balance, and now looked upon the casemore calmly. Arthur was very young and inexperienced; his decision couldhardly be, as yet, irrevocable. Surely there was still time to win himback by gentle persuasion and reasoning from the dangerous path uponwhich he had barely entered. 

They had intended to stay a few days at Geneva; but at the first sightof the glaring white streets and dusty, tourist-crammed promenades, a little frown appeared on Arthur's face. Montanelli watched him withquiet amusement. 

"You don't like it, carino?"

"I hardly know. It's so different from what I expected. Yes, the lake isbeautiful, and I like the shape of those hills. " They were standing onRousseau's Island, and he pointed to the long, severe outlines ofthe Savoy side. "But the town looks so stiff and tidy, somehow--soProtestant; it has a self-satisfied air. No, I don't like it; it remindsme of Julia. "

Montanelli laughed. "Poor boy, what a misfortune! Well, we are here forour own amusement, so there is no reason why we should stop. Suppose wetake a sail on the lake to-day, and go up into the mountains to-morrowmorning?"

"But, Padre, you wanted to stay here?"

"My dear boy, I have seen all these places a dozen times. My holiday isto see your pleasure. Where would you like to go?"

"If it is really the same to you, I should like to follow the river backto its source. "

"The Rhone?"

"No, the Arve; it runs so fast. "

"Then we will go to Chamonix. "

They spent the afternoon drifting about in a little sailing boat. Thebeautiful lake produced far less impression upon Arthur than the grayand muddy Arve. He had grown up beside the Mediterranean, and wasaccustomed to blue ripples; but he had a positive passion for swiftlymoving water, and the hurried rushing of the glacier stream delightedhim beyond measure. "It is so much in earnest, " he said. 

Early on the following morning they started for Chamonix. Arthur was invery high spirits while driving through the fertile valley country;but when they entered upon the winding road near Cluses, and the great, jagged hills closed in around them, he became serious and silent. From St. Martin they walked slowly up the valley, stopping to sleep atwayside chalets or tiny mountain villages, and wandering on again astheir fancy directed. Arthur was peculiarly sensitive to the influenceof scenery, and the first waterfall that they passed threw him intoan ecstacy which was delightful to see; but as they drew nearer tothe snow-peaks he passed out of this rapturous mood into one of dreamyexaltation that Montanelli had not seen before. There seemed to be akind of mystical relationship between him and the mountains. He wouldlie for hours motionless in the dark, secret, echoing pine-forests, looking out between the straight, tall trunks into the sunlit outerworld of flashing peaks and barren cliffs. Montanelli watched him with akind of sad envy. 

"I wish you could show me what you see, carino, " he said one day as helooked up from his book, and saw Arthur stretched beside him on the mossin the same attitude as an hour before, gazing out with wide, dilatedeyes into the glittering expanse of blue and white. They had turnedaside from the high-road to sleep at a quiet village near the fallsof the Diosaz, and, the sun being already low in a cloudless sky, hadmounted a point of pine-clad rock to wait for the Alpine glow over thedome and needles of the Mont Blanc chain. Arthur raised his head witheyes full of wonder and mystery. 

"What I see, Padre? I see a great, white being in a blue void that hasno beginning and no end. I see it waiting, age after age, for the comingof the Spirit of God. I see it through a glass darkly. "

Montanelli sighed. 

"I used to see those things once. "

"Do you never see them now?"

"Never. I shall not see them any more. They are there, I know; but Ihave not the eyes to see them. I see quite other things. "

"What do you see?"

"I, carino? I see a blue sky and a snow-mountain--that is all when Ilook up into the heights. But down there it is different. "

He pointed to the valley below them. Arthur knelt down and bent overthe sheer edge of the precipice. The great pine trees, dusky in thegathering shades of evening, stood like sentinels along the narrow banksconfining the river. Presently the sun, red as a glowing coal, dippedbehind a jagged mountain peak, and all the life and light deserted theface of nature. Straightway there came upon the valley somethingdark and threatening--sullen, terrible, full of spectral weapons. Theperpendicular cliffs of the barren western mountains seemed like theteeth of a monster lurking to snatch a victim and drag him down into themaw of the deep valley, black with its moaning forests. The pinetrees were rows of knife-blades whispering: "Fall upon us!" and in thegathering darkness the torrent roared and howled, beating against itsrocky prison walls with the frenzy of an everlasting despair. 

"Padre!" Arthur rose, shuddering, and drew back from the precipice. "Itis like hell. "

"No, my son, " Montanelli answered softly, "it is only like a humansoul. "

"The souls of them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death?"

"The souls of them that pass you day by day in the street. "

Arthur shivered, looking down into the shadows. A dim white mist washovering among the pine trees, clinging faintly about the desperateagony of the torrent, like a miserable ghost that had no consolation togive. 

"Look!" Arthur said suddenly. "The people that walked in darkness haveseen a great light. "

Eastwards the snow-peaks burned in the afterglow. When the red light hadfaded from the summits Montanelli turned and roused Arthur with a touchon the shoulder. 

"Come in, carino; all the light is gone. We shall lose our way in thedark if we stay any longer. "

"It is like a corpse, " Arthur said as he turned away from the spectralface of the great snow-peak glimmering through the twilight. 

They descended cautiously among the black trees to the chalet where theywere to sleep. 

As Montanelli entered the room where Arthur was waiting for him at thesupper table, he saw that the lad seemed to have shaken off the ghostlyfancies of the dark, and to have changed into quite another creature. 

"Oh, Padre, do come and look at this absurd dog! It can dance on itshind legs. "

He was as much absorbed in the dog and its accomplishments as hehad been in the after-glow. The woman of the chalet, red-faced andwhite-aproned, with sturdy arms akimbo, stood by smiling, while he putthe animal through its tricks. "One can see there's not much on his mindif he can carry on that way, " she said in patois to her daughter. "Andwhat a handsome lad!"

Arthur coloured like a schoolgirl, and the woman, seeing that he hadunderstood, went away laughing at his confusion. At supper he talkedof nothing but plans for excursions, mountain ascents, and botanizingexpeditions. Evidently his dreamy fancies had not interfered with eitherhis spirits or his appetite. 

When Montanelli awoke the next morning Arthur had disappeared. He hadstarted before daybreak for the higher pastures "to help Gaspard driveup the goats. "

Breakfast had not long been on the table, however, when he came tearinginto the room, hatless, with a tiny peasant girl of three years oldperched on his shoulder, and a great bunch of wild flowers in his hand. 

Montanelli looked up, smiling. This was a curious contrast to the graveand silent Arthur of Pisa or Leghorn. 

"Where have you been, you madcap? Scampering all over the mountainswithout any breakfast?"

"Oh, Padre, it was so jolly! The mountains look perfectly glorious atsunrise; and the dew is so thick! Just look!"

He lifted for inspection a wet and muddy boot. 

"We took some bread and cheese with us, and got some goat's milk upthere on the pasture; oh, it was nasty! But I'm hungry again, now; and Iwant something for this little person, too. Annette, won't you have somehoney?"

He had sat down with the child on his knee, and was helping her to putthe flowers in order. 

"No, no!" Montanelli interposed. "I can't have you catching cold. Runand change your wet things. Come to me, Annette. Where did you pick herup?"

"At the top of the village. She belongs to the man we saw yesterday--theman that cobbles the commune's boots. Hasn't she lovely eyes? She's gota tortoise in her pocket, and she calls it 'Caroline. '"

When Arthur had changed his wet socks and came down to breakfast hefound the child seated on the Padre's knee, chattering volubly to himabout her tortoise, which she was holding upside down in a chubby hand, that "monsieur" might admire the wriggling legs. 

"Look, monsieur!" she was saying gravely in her half-intelligiblepatois: "Look at Caroline's boots!"

Montanelli sat playing with the child, stroking her hair, admiring herdarling tortoise, and telling her wonderful stories. The woman of thechalet, coming in to clear the table, stared in amazement at the sightof Annette turning out the pockets of the grave gentleman in clericaldress. 

"God teaches the little ones to know a good man, " she said. "Annette isalways afraid of strangers; and see, she is not shy with his reverenceat all. The wonderful thing! Kneel down, Annette, and ask the goodmonsieur's blessing before he goes; it will bring thee luck. "

"I didn't know you could play with children that way, Padre, " Arthursaid an hour later, as they walked through the sunlit pasture-land. "That child never took her eyes off you all the time. Do you know, Ithink----"

"Yes?"

"I was only going to say--it seems to me almost a pity that the Churchshould forbid priests to marry. I cannot quite understand why. You see, the training of children is such a serious thing, and it means so muchto them to be surrounded from the very beginning with good influences, that I should have thought the holier a man's vocation and the purer hislife, the more fit he is to be a father. I am sure, Padre, if you hadnot been under a vow, --if you had married, --your children would havebeen the very----"

"Hush!"

The word was uttered in a hasty whisper that seemed to deepen theensuing silence. 

"Padre, " Arthur began again, distressed by the other's sombre look, "doyou think there is anything wrong in what I said? Of course I may bemistaken; but I must think as it comes natural to me to think. "

"Perhaps, " Montanelli answered gently, "you do not quite realize themeaning of what you just said. You will see differently in a few years. Meanwhile we had better talk about something else. "

It was the first break in the perfect ease and harmony that reignedbetween them on this ideal holiday. 

From Chamonix they went on by the Tete-Noire to Martigny, where theystopped to rest, as the weather was stiflingly hot. After dinner theysat on the terrace of the hotel, which was sheltered from the sun andcommanded a good view of the mountains. Arthur brought out his specimenbox and plunged into an earnest botanical discussion in Italian. 

Two English artists were sitting on the terrace; one sketching, theother lazily chatting. It did not seem to have occurred to him that thestrangers might understand English. 

"Leave off daubing at the landscape, Willie, " he said; "and draw thatglorious Italian boy going into ecstasies over those bits of ferns. Justlook at the line of his eyebrows! You only need to put a crucifix forthe magnifying-glass and a Roman toga for the jacket and knickerbockers, and there's your Early Christian complete, expression and all. "

"Early Christian be hanged! I sat beside that youth at dinner; he wasjust as ecstatic over the roast fowl as over those grubby little weeds. He's pretty enough; that olive colouring is beautiful; but he's not halfso picturesque as his father. "

"His--who?"

"His father, sitting there straight in front of you. Do you mean to sayyou've passed him over? It's a perfectly magnificent face. "

"Why, you dunder-headed, go-to-meeting Methodist! Don't you know aCatholic priest when you see one?"

"A priest? By Jove, so he is! Yes, I forgot; vow of chastity, and allthat sort of thing. Well then, we'll be charitable and suppose the boy'shis nephew. "

"What idiotic people!" Arthur whispered, looking up with dancing eyes. "Still, it is kind of them to think me like you; I wish I were reallyyour nephew----Padre, what is the matter? How white you are!"

Montanelli was standing up, pressing one hand to his forehead. "I am alittle giddy, " he said in a curiously faint, dull tone. "Perhaps I wastoo much in the sun this morning. I will go and lie down, carino; it'snothing but the heat. "

 *****

After a fortnight beside the Lake of Lucerne Arthur and Montanellireturned to Italy by the St. Gothard Pass. They had been fortunate asto weather and had made several very pleasant excursions; but thefirst charm was gone out of their enjoyment. Montanelli was continuallyhaunted by an uneasy thought of the "more definite talk" for which thisholiday was to have been the opportunity. In the Arve valley he hadpurposely put off all reference to the subject of which they had spokenunder the magnolia tree; it would be cruel, he thought, to spoil thefirst delights of Alpine scenery for a nature so artistic as Arthur's byassociating them with a conversation which must necessarily be painful. Ever since the day at Martigny he had said to himself each morning; "Iwill speak to-day, " and each evening: "I will speak to-morrow;" and nowthe holiday was over, and he still repeated again and again: "To-morrow, to-morrow. " A chill, indefinable sense of something not quite the sameas it had been, of an invisible veil falling between himself andArthur, kept him silent, until, on the last evening of their holiday, herealized suddenly that he must speak now if he would speak at all. Theywere stopping for the night at Lugano, and were to start for Pisa nextmorning. He would at least find out how far his darling had been drawninto the fatal quicksand of Italian politics. 

"The rain has stopped, carino, " he said after sunset; "and this is theonly chance we shall have to see the lake. Come out; I want to have atalk with you. "

They walked along the water's edge to a quiet spot and sat down on alow stone wall. Close beside them grew a rose-bush, covered with scarlethips; one or two belated clusters of creamy blossom still hung from anupper branch, swaying mournfully and heavy with raindrops. On the greensurface of the lake a little boat, with white wings faintly fluttering, rocked in the dewy breeze. It looked as light and frail as a tuft ofsilvery dandelion seed flung upon the water. High up on Monte Salvatorethe window of some shepherd's hut opened a golden eye. The roses hungtheir heads and dreamed under the still September clouds, and the waterplashed and murmured softly among the pebbles of the shore. 

"This will be my only chance of a quiet talk with you for a long time, "Montanelli began. "You will go back to your college work and friends;and I, too, shall be very busy this winter. I want to understand quiteclearly what our position as regards each other is to be; and so, ifyou----" He stopped for a moment and then continued more slowly: "If youfeel that you can still trust me as you used to do, I want you to tellme more definitely than that night in the seminary garden, how far youhave gone. "

Arthur looked out across the water, listened quietly, and said nothing. 

"I want to know, if you will tell me, " Montanelli went on; "whether youhave bound yourself by a vow, or--in any way. "

"There is nothing to tell, dear Padre; I have not bound myself, but I ambound. "

"I don't understand------"

"What is the use of vows? They are not what binds people. If you feelin a certain way about a thing, that binds you to it; if you don't feelthat way, nothing else can bind you. "

"Do you mean, then, that this thing--this--feeling is quite irrevocable?Arthur, have you thought what you are saying?"

Arthur turned round and looked straight into Montanelli's eyes. 

"Padre, you asked me if I could trust you. Can you not trust me, too?Indeed, if there were anything to tell, I would tell it to you; butthere is no use in talking about these things. I have not forgotten whatyou said to me that night; I shall never forget it. But I must go my wayand follow the light that I see. "

Montanelli picked a rose from the bush, pulled off the petals one byone, and tossed them into the water. 

"You are right, carino. Yes, we will say no more about these things;it seems there is indeed no help in many words----Well, well, let us goin. "

CHAPTER III. 

THE autumn and winter passed uneventfully. Arthur was reading hard andhad little spare time. He contrived to get a glimpse of Montanelli onceor oftener in every week, if only for a few minutes. From time to timehe would come in to ask for help with some difficult book; but on theseoccasions the subject of study was strictly adhered to. Montanelli, feeling, rather than observing, the slight, impalpable barrier thathad come between them, shrank from everything which might seem like anattempt to retain the old close relationship. Arthur's visits now causedhim more distress than pleasure, so trying was the constant effort toappear at ease and to behave as if nothing were altered. Arthur, for hispart, noticed, hardly understanding it, the subtle change in the Padre'smanner; and, vaguely feeling that it had some connection with the vexedquestion of the "new ideas, " avoided all mention of the subject withwhich his thoughts were constantly filled. Yet he had neverloved Montanelli so deeply as now. The dim, persistent sense ofdissatisfaction, of spiritual emptiness, which he had tried so hard tostifle under a load of theology and ritual, had vanished into nothing atthe touch of Young Italy. All the unhealthy fancies born of lonelinessand sick-room watching had passed away, and the doubts against which heused to pray had gone without the need of exorcism. With the awakeningof a new enthusiasm, a clearer, fresher religious ideal (for it was morein this light than in that of a political development that thestudents' movement had appeared to him), had come a sense of rest andcompleteness, of peace on earth and good will towards men; and in thismood of solemn and tender exaltation all the world seemed to him full oflight. He found a new element of something lovable in the persons whomhe had most disliked; and Montanelli, who for five years had been hisideal hero, was now in his eyes surrounded with an additional halo, asa potential prophet of the new faith. He listened with passionateeagerness to the Padre's sermons, trying to find in them some trace ofinner kinship with the republican ideal; and pored over the Gospels, rejoicing in the democratic tendencies of Christianity at its origin. 

One day in January he called at the seminary to return a book which hehad borrowed. Hearing that the Father Director was out, he went up toMontanelli's private study, placed the volume on its shelf, and wasabout to leave the room when the title of a book lying on the tablecaught his eyes. It was Dante's "De Monarchia. " He began to read it andsoon became so absorbed that when the door opened and shut he did nothear. He was aroused from his preoccupation by Montanelli's voice behindhim. 

"I did not expect you to-day, " said the Padre, glancing at the title ofthe book. "I was just going to send and ask if you could come to me thisevening. "

"Is it anything important? I have an engagement for this evening; but Iwill miss it if------"

"No; to-morrow will do. I want to see you because I am going away onTuesday. I have been sent for to Rome. "

"To Rome? For long?"

"The letter says, 'till after Easter. ' It is from the Vatican. I wouldhave let you know at once, but have been very busy settling up thingsabout the seminary and making arrangements for the new Director. "

"But, Padre, surely you are not giving up the seminary?"

"It will have to be so; but I shall probably come back to Pisa, for sometime at least. "

"But why are you giving it up?"

"Well, it is not yet officially announced; but I am offered abishopric. "

"Padre! Where?"

"That is the point about which I have to go to Rome. It is not yetdecided whether I am to take a see in the Apennines, or to remain hereas Suffragan. "

"And is the new Director chosen yet?"

"Father Cardi has been nominated and arrives here to-morrow. "

"Is not that rather sudden?"

"Yes; but----The decisions of the Vatican are sometimes not communicatedtill the last moment. "

"Do you know the new Director?"

"Not personally; but he is very highly spoken of. Monsignor Belloni, whowrites, says that he is a man of great erudition. "

"The seminary will miss you terribly. "

"I don't know about the seminary, but I am sure you will miss me, carino; perhaps almost as much as I shall miss you. "

"I shall indeed; but I am very glad, for all that. "

"Are you? I don't know that I am. " He sat down at the table with a wearylook on his face; not the look of a man who is expecting high promotion. 

"Are you busy this afternoon, Arthur?" he said after a moment. "If not, I wish you would stay with me for a while, as you can't come to-night. I am a little out of sorts, I think; and I want to see as much of you aspossible before leaving. "

"Yes, I can stay a bit. I am due at six. "

"One of your meetings?"

Arthur nodded; and Montanelli changed the subject hastily. 

"I want to speak to you about yourself, " he said. "You will need anotherconfessor in my absence. "

"When you come back I may go on confessing to you, may I not?"

"My dear boy, how can you ask? Of course I am speaking only of the threeor four months that I shall be away. Will you go to one of the Fathersof Santa Caterina?"

"Very well. "

They talked of other matters for a little while; then Arthur rose. 

"I must go, Padre; the students will be waiting for me. "

The haggard look came back to Montanelli's face. 

"Already? You had almost charmed away my black mood. Well, good-bye. "

"Good-bye. I will be sure to come to-morrow. "

"Try to come early, so that I may have time to see you alone. FatherCardi will be here. Arthur, my dear boy, be careful while I am gone;don't be led into doing anything rash, at least before I come back. Youcannot think how anxious I feel about leaving you. "

"There is no need, Padre; everything is quite quiet. It will be a longtime yet. "

"Good-bye, " Montanelli said abruptly, and sat down to his writing. 

The first person upon whom Arthur's eyes fell, as he entered the roomwhere the students' little gatherings were held, was his old playmate, Dr. Warren's daughter. She was sitting in a corner by the window, listening with an absorbed and earnest face to what one of the"initiators, " a tall young Lombard in a threadbare coat, was saying toher. During the last few months she had changed and developed greatly, and now looked a grown-up young woman, though the dense black plaitsstill hung down her back in school-girl fashion. She was dressed all inblack, and had thrown a black scarf over her head, as the room was coldand draughty. At her breast was a spray of cypress, the emblem of YoungItaly. The initiator was passionately describing to her the miseryof the Calabrian peasantry; and she sat listening silently, her chinresting on one hand and her eyes on the ground. To Arthur she seemeda melancholy vision of Liberty mourning for the lost Republic. (Julia would have seen in her only an overgrown hoyden, with a sallowcomplexion, an irregular nose, and an old stuff frock that was too shortfor her. )

"You here, Jim!" he said, coming up to her when the initiator had beencalled to the other end of the room. "Jim" was a childish corruption ofher curious baptismal name: Jennifer. Her Italian schoolmates called her"Gemma. "

She raised her head with a start. 

"Arthur! Oh, I didn't know you--belonged here!"

"And I had no idea about you. Jim, since when have you----?"

"You don't understand!" she interposed quickly. "I am not a member. It is only that I have done one or two little things. You see, I metBini--you know Carlo Bini?"

"Yes, of course. " Bini was the organizer of the Leghorn branch; and allYoung Italy knew him. 

"Well, he began talking to me about these things; and I asked him tolet me go to a students' meeting. The other day he wrote to me toFlorence------Didn't you know I had been to Florence for the Christmasholidays?"

"I don't often hear from home now. "

"Ah, yes! Anyhow, I went to stay with the Wrights. " (The Wrights wereold schoolfellows of hers who had moved to Florence. ) "Then Bini wroteand told me to pass through Pisa to-day on my way home, so that I couldcome here. Ah! they're going to begin. "

The lecture was upon the ideal Republic and the duty of the young tofit themselves for it. The lecturer's comprehension of his subject wassomewhat vague; but Arthur listened with devout admiration. His mind atthis period was curiously uncritical; when he accepted a moral idealhe swallowed it whole without stopping to think whether it was quitedigestible. When the lecture and the long discussion which followed itwere finished and the students began to disperse, he went up to Gemma, who was still sitting in the corner of the room. 

"Let me walk with you, Jim. Where are you staying?"

"With Marietta. "

"Your father's old housekeeper?"

"Yes; she lives a good way from here. "

They walked for some time in silence. Then Arthur said suddenly:

"You are seventeen, now, aren't you?"

"I was seventeen in October. "

"I always knew you would not grow up like other girls and begin wantingto go to balls and all that sort of thing. Jim, dear, I have so oftenwondered whether you would ever come to be one of us. "

"So have I. "

"You said you had done things for Bini; I didn't know you even knewhim. "

"It wasn't for Bini; it was for the other one"

"Which other one?"

"The one that was talking to me to-night--Bolla. "

"Do you know him well?" Arthur put in with a little touch of jealousy. Bolla was a sore subject with him; there had been a rivalry between themabout some work which the committee of Young Italy had finally intrustedto Bolla, declaring Arthur too young and inexperienced. 

"I know him pretty well; and I like him very much. He has been stayingin Leghorn. "

"I know; he went there in November------"

"Because of the steamers. Arthur, don't you think your house would besafer than ours for that work? Nobody would suspect a rich shippingfamily like yours; and you know everyone at the docks----"

"Hush! not so loud, dear! So it was in your house the books fromMarseilles were hidden?"

"Only for one day. Oh! perhaps I oughtn't to have told you. "

"Why not? You know I belong to the society. Gemma, dear, there isnothing in all the world that would make me so happy as for you to joinus--you and the Padre. "

"Your Padre! Surely he----"

"No; he thinks differently. But I have sometimes fancied--thatis--hoped--I don't know----"

"But, Arthur! he's a priest. "

"What of that? There are priests in the society--two of them write inthe paper. And why not? It is the mission of the priesthood to lead theworld to higher ideals and aims, and what else does the society tryto do? It is, after all, more a religious and moral question than apolitical one. If people are fit to be free and responsible citizens, noone can keep them enslaved. "

Gemma knit her brows. "It seems to me, Arthur, " she said, "that there'sa muddle somewhere in your logic. A priest teaches religious doctrine. Idon't see what that has to do with getting rid of the Austrians. "

"A priest is a teacher of Christianity, and the greatest of allrevolutionists was Christ. "

"Do you know, I was talking about priests to father the other day, andhe said----"

"Gemma, your father is a Protestant. "

After a little pause she looked round at him frankly. 

"Look here, we had better leave this subject alone. You are alwaysintolerant when you talk about Protestants. "

"I didn't mean to be intolerant. But I think Protestants are generallyintolerant when they talk about priests. "

"I dare say. Anyhow, we have so often quarreled over this subjectthat it is not worth while to begin again. What did you think of thelecture?"

"I liked it very much--especially the last part. I was glad he spoke sostrongly about the need of living the Republic, not dreaming of it. Itis as Christ said: 'The Kingdom of Heaven is within you. '"

"It was just that part that I didn't like. He talked so much of thewonderful things we ought to think and feel and be, but he never told uspractically what we ought to do. "

"When the time of crisis comes there will be plenty for us to do; but wemust be patient; these great changes are not made in a day. "

"The longer a thing is to take doing, the more reason to begin at once. You talk about being fit for freedom--did you ever know anyone so fitfor it as your mother? Wasn't she the most perfectly angelic woman youever saw? And what use was all her goodness? She was a slave till theday she died--bullied and worried and insulted by your brother James andhis wife. It would have been much better for her if she had not been sosweet and patient; they would never have treated her so. That's just theway with Italy; it's not patience that's wanted--it's for somebody toget up and defend themselves------"

"Jim, dear, if anger and passion could have saved Italy she would havebeen free long ago; it is not hatred that she needs, it is love. "

As he said the word a sudden flush went up to his forehead and died outagain. Gemma did not see it; she was looking straight before her withknitted brows and set mouth. 

"You think I am wrong, Arthur, " she said after a pause; "but I am right, and you will grow to see it some day. This is the house. Will you comein?"

"No; it's late. Good-night, dear!"

He was standing on the doorstep, clasping her hand in both of his. 

"For God and the people----"

Slowly and gravely she completed the unfinished motto:

"Now and forever. "

Then she pulled away her hand and ran into the house. When the door hadclosed behind her he stooped and picked up the spray of cypress whichhad fallen from her breast. 

CHAPTER IV. 

ARTHUR went back to his lodgings feeling as though he had wings. He wasabsolutely, cloudlessly happy. At the meeting there had been hints ofpreparations for armed insurrection; and now Gemma was a comrade, and heloved her. They could work together, possibly even die together, for theRepublic that was to be. The blossoming time of their hope was come, andthe Padre would see it and believe. 

The next morning, however, he awoke in a soberer mood and rememberedthat Gemma was going to Leghorn and the Padre to Rome. January, February, March--three long months to Easter! And if Gemma shouldfall under "Protestant" influences at home (in Arthur's vocabulary"Protestant" stood for "Philistine")------No, Gemma would never learn toflirt and simper and captivate tourists and bald-headed shipowners, likethe other English girls in Leghorn; she was made of different stuff. Butshe might be very miserable; she was so young, so friendless, so utterlyalone among all those wooden people. If only mother had lived----

In the evening he went to the seminary, where he found Montanellientertaining the new Director and looking both tired and bored. Insteadof lighting up, as usual, at the sight of Arthur, the Padre's face grewdarker. 

"This is the student I spoke to you about, " he said, introducing Arthurstiffly. "I shall be much obliged if you will allow him to continueusing the library. "

Father Cardi, a benevolent-looking elderly priest, at once began talkingto Arthur about the Sapienza, with an ease and familiarity which showedhim to be well acquainted with college life. The conversation soondrifted into a discussion of university regulations, a burning questionof that day. To Arthur's great delight, the new Director spoke stronglyagainst the custom adopted by the university authorities of constantlyworrying the students by senseless and vexatious restrictions. 

"I have had a good deal of experience in guiding young people, " he said;"and I make it a rule never to prohibit anything without a good reason. There are very few young men who will give much trouble if properconsideration and respect for their personality are shown to them. But, of course, the most docile horse will kick if you are always jerking atthe rein. "

Arthur opened his eyes wide; he had not expected to hear the students'cause pleaded by the new Director. Montanelli took no part in thediscussion; its subject, apparently, did not interest him. Theexpression of his face was so unutterably hopeless and weary that FatherCardi broke off suddenly. 

"I am afraid I have overtired you, Canon. You must forgive mytalkativeness; I am hot upon this subject and forget that others maygrow weary of it. "

"On the contrary, I was much interested. " Montanelli was not given tostereotyped politeness, and his tone jarred uncomfortably upon Arthur. 

When Father Cardi went to his own room Montanelli turned to Arthur withthe intent and brooding look that his face had worn all the evening. 

"Arthur, my dear boy, " he began slowly; "I have something to tell you. "

"He must have had bad news, " flashed through Arthur's mind, as he lookedanxiously at the haggard face. There was a long pause. 

"How do you like the new Director?" Montanelli asked suddenly. 

The question was so unexpected that, for a moment, Arthur was at a losshow to reply to it. 

"I--I like him very much, I think--at least--no, I am not quite surethat I do. But it is difficult to say, after seeing a person once. "

Montanelli sat beating his hand gently on the arm of his chair; a habitwith him when anxious or perplexed. 

"About this journey to Rome, " he began again; "if you think there isany--well--if you wish it, Arthur, I will write and say I cannot go. "

"Padre! But the Vatican------"

"The Vatican will find someone else. I can send apologies. "

"But why? I can't understand. "

Montanelli drew one hand across his forehead. 

"I am anxious about you. Things keep coming into my head--and after all, there is no need for me to go------"

"But the bishopric----"

"Oh, Arthur! what shall it profit me if I gain a bishopric and lose----"

He broke off. Arthur had never seen him like this before, and wasgreatly troubled. 

"I can't understand, " he said. "Padre, if you could explain to memore--more definitely, what it is you think------"

"I think nothing; I am haunted with a horrible fear. Tell me, is thereany special danger?"

"He has heard something, " Arthur thought, remembering the whispers ofa projected revolt. But the secret was not his to tell; and he merelyanswered: "What special danger should there be?"

"Don't question me--answer me!" Montanelli's voice was almost harsh inits eagerness. "Are you in danger? I don't want to know your secrets;only tell me that!"

"We are all in God's hands, Padre; anything may always happen. But Iknow of no reason why I should not be here alive and safe when you comeback. "

"When I come back----Listen, carino; I will leave it in your hands. Youneed give me no reason; only say to me, 'Stay, ' and I will give up thisjourney. There will be no injury to anyone, and I shall feel you aresafer if I have you beside me. "

This kind of morbid fancifulness was so foreign to Montanelli'scharacter that Arthur looked at him with grave anxiety. 

"Padre, I am sure you are not well. Of course you must go to Rome, and try to have a thorough rest and get rid of your sleeplessness andheadaches. "

"Very well, " Montanelli interrupted, as if tired of the subject; "I willstart by the early coach to-morrow morning. "

Arthur looked at him, wondering. 

"You had something to tell me?" he said. 

"No, no; nothing more--nothing of any consequence. " There was astartled, almost terrified look in his face. 

A few days after Montanelli's departure Arthur went to fetch a book fromthe seminary library, and met Father Cardi on the stairs. 

"Ah, Mr. Burton!" exclaimed the Director; "the very person I wanted. Please come in and help me out of a difficulty. "

He opened the study door, and Arthur followed him into the room witha foolish, secret sense of resentment. It seemed hard to see this dearstudy, the Padre's own private sanctum, invaded by a stranger. 

"I am a terrible book-worm, " said the Director; "and my first act when Igot here was to examine the library. It seems very interesting, but I donot understand the system by which it is catalogued. "

"The catalogue is imperfect; many of the best books have been added tothe collection lately. "

"Can you spare half an hour to explain the arrangement to me?"

They went into the library, and Arthur carefully explained thecatalogue. When he rose to take his hat, the Director interfered, laughing. 

"No, no! I can't have you rushing off in that way. It is Saturday, andquite time for you to leave off work till Monday morning. Stop and havesupper with me, now I have kept you so late. I am quite alone, and shallbe glad of company. "

His manner was so bright and pleasant that Arthur felt at ease with himat once. After some desultory conversation, the Director inquired howlong he had known Montanelli. 

"For about seven years. He came back from China when I was twelve yearsold. "

"Ah, yes! It was there that he gained his reputation as a missionarypreacher. Have you been his pupil ever since?"

"He began teaching me a year later, about the time when I firstconfessed to him. Since I have been at the Sapienza he has still gone onhelping me with anything I wanted to study that was not in the regularcourse. He has been very kind to me--you can hardly imagine how kind. "

"I can well believe it; he is a man whom no one can fail to admire--amost noble and beautiful nature. I have met priests who were out inChina with him; and they had no words high enough to praise his energyand courage under all hardships, and his unfailing devotion. You arefortunate to have had in your youth the help and guidance of such a man. I understood from him that you have lost both parents. "

"Yes; my father died when I was a child, and my mother a year ago. "

"Have you brothers and sisters?"

"No; I have step-brothers; but they were business men when I was in thenursery. "

"You must have had a lonely childhood; perhaps you value CanonMontanelli's kindness the more for that. By the way, have you chosen aconfessor for the time of his absence?"

"I thought of going to one of the fathers of Santa Caterina, if theyhave not too many penitents. "

"Will you confess to me?"

Arthur opened his eyes in wonder. 

"Reverend Father, of course I--should be glad; only----"

"Only the Director of a theological seminary does not usually receivelay penitents? That is quite true. But I know Canon Montanelli takesa great interest in you, and I fancy he is a little anxious on yourbehalf--just as I should be if I were leaving a favourite pupil--andwould like to know you were under the spiritual guidance of hiscolleague. And, to be quite frank with you, my son, I like you, andshould be glad to give you any help I can. "

"If you put it that way, of course I shall be very grateful for yourguidance. "

"Then you will come to me next month? That's right. And run in to seeme, my lad, when you have time any evening. "

 *****

Shortly before Easter Montanelli's appointment to the little see ofBrisighella, in the Etruscan Apennines, was officially announced. Hewrote to Arthur from Rome in a cheerful and tranquil spirit; evidentlyhis depression was passing over. "You must come to see me everyvacation, " he wrote; "and I shall often be coming to Pisa; so I hope tosee a good deal of you, if not so much as I should wish. "

Dr. Warren had invited Arthur to spend the Easter holidays with him andhis children, instead of in the dreary, rat-ridden old place where Julianow reigned supreme. Enclosed in the letter was a short note, scrawledin Gemma's childish, irregular handwriting, begging him to come ifpossible, "as I want to talk to you about something. " Still moreencouraging was the whispered communication passing around from studentto student in the university; everyone was to be prepared for greatthings after Easter. 

All this had put Arthur into a state of rapturous anticipation, in whichthe wildest improbabilities hinted at among the students seemed to himnatural and likely to be realized within the next two months. 

He arranged to go home on Thursday in Passion week, and to spend thefirst days of the vacation there, that the pleasure of visiting theWarrens and the delight of seeing Gemma might not unfit him for thesolemn religious meditation demanded by the Church from all her childrenat this season. He wrote to Gemma, promising to come on Easter Monday;and went up to his bedroom on Wednesday night with a soul at peace. 

He knelt down before the crucifix. Father Cardi had promised to receivehim in the morning; and for this, his last confession before the Eastercommunion, he must prepare himself by long and earnest prayer. Kneelingwith clasped hands and bent head, he looked back over the month, andreckoned up the miniature sins of impatience, carelessness, hastinessof temper, which had left their faint, small spots upon the whiteness ofhis soul. Beyond these he could find nothing; in this month he hadbeen too happy to sin much. He crossed himself, and, rising, began toundress. 

As he unfastened his shirt a scrap of paper slipped from it andfluttered to the floor. It was Gemma's letter, which he had worn allday upon his neck. He picked it up, unfolded it, and kissed thedear scribble; then began folding the paper up again, with a dimconsciousness of having done something very ridiculous, when he noticedon the back of the sheet a postscript which he had not read before. "Be sure and come as soon as possible, " it ran, "for I want you to meetBolla. He has been staying here, and we have read together every day. "

The hot colour went up to Arthur's forehead as he read. 

Always Bolla! What was he doing in Leghorn again? And why should Gemmawant to read with him? Had he bewitched her with his smuggling? It hadbeen quite easy to see at the meeting in January that he was in lovewith her; that was why he had been so earnest over his propaganda. Andnow he was close to her--reading with her every day. 

Arthur suddenly threw the letter aside and knelt down again before thecrucifix. And this was the soul that was preparing for absolution, forthe Easter sacrament--the soul at peace with God and itself and all theworld! A soul capable of sordid jealousies and suspicions; of selfishanimosities and ungenerous hatred--and against a comrade! He covered hisface with both hands in bitter humiliation. Only five minutes ago hehad been dreaming of martyrdom; and now he had been guilty of a mean andpetty thought like this!

When he entered the seminary chapel on Thursday morning he found FatherCardi alone. After repeating the Confiteor, he plunged at once into thesubject of his last night's backsliding. 

"My father, I accuse myself of the sins of jealousy and anger, and ofunworthy thoughts against one who has done me no wrong. "

Farther Cardi knew quite well with what kind of penitent he had to deal. He only said softly:

"You have not told me all, my son. "

"Father, the man against whom I have thought an unchristian thought isone whom I am especially bound to love and honour. "

"One to whom you are bound by ties of blood?"

"By a still closer tie. "

"By what tie, my son?"

"By that of comradeship. "

"Comradeship in what?"

"In a great and holy work. "

A little pause. 

"And your anger against this--comrade, your jealousy of him, was calledforth by his success in that work being greater than yours?"

"I--yes, partly. I envied him his experience--his usefulness. Andthen--I thought--I feared--that he would take from me the heart of thegirl I--love. "

"And this girl that you love, is she a daughter of the Holy Church?"

"No; she is a Protestant. "

"A heretic?"

Arthur clasped his hands in great distress. "Yes, a heretic, " herepeated. "We were brought up together; our mothers werefriends--and I--envied him, because I saw that he loves her, too, andbecause--because----"

"My son, " said Father Cardi, speaking after a moment's silence, slowlyand gravely, "you have still not told me all; there is more than thisupon your soul. "

"Father, I----" He faltered and broke off again. 

The priest waited silently. 

"I envied him because the society--the Young Italy--that I belongto------"

"Yes?"

"Intrusted him with a work that I had hoped--would be given to me, thatI had thought myself--specially adapted for. "

"What work?"

"The taking in of books--political books--from the steamers that bringthem--and finding a hiding place for them--in the town------"

"And this work was given by the party to your rival?"

"To Bolla--and I envied him. "

"And he gave you no cause for this feeling? You do not accuse him ofhaving neglected the mission intrusted to him?"

"No, father; he has worked bravely and devotedly; he is a true patriotand has deserved nothing but love and respect from me. "

Father Cardi pondered. 

"My son, if there is within you a new light, a dream of some great workto be accomplished for your fellow-men, a hope that shall lighten theburdens of the weary and oppressed, take heed how you deal with the mostprecious blessing of God. All good things are of His giving; and of Hisgiving is the new birth. If you have found the way of sacrifice, the waythat leads to peace; if you have joined with loving comrades to bringdeliverance to them that weep and mourn in secret; then see to it thatyour soul be free from envy and passion and your heart as an altar wherethe sacred fire burns eternally. Remember that this is a high and holything, and that the heart which would receive it must be purified fromevery selfish thought. This vocation is as the vocation of a priest;it is not for the love of a woman, nor for the moment of a fleetingpassion; it is FOR GOD AND THE PEOPLE; it is NOW AND FOREVER. "

"Ah!" Arthur started and clasped his hands; he had almost burst outsobbing at the motto. "Father, you give us the sanction of the Church!Christ is on our side----"

"My son, " the priest answered solemnly, "Christ drove the moneychangersout of the Temple, for His House shall be called a House of Prayer, andthey had made it a den of thieves. "

After a long silence, Arthur whispered tremulously:

"And Italy shall be His Temple when they are driven out----"

He stopped; and the soft answer came back:

"'The earth and the fulness thereof are mine, saith the Lord. '"

CHAPTER V. 

THAT afternoon Arthur felt the need of a long walk. He intrusted hisluggage to a fellow-student and went to Leghorn on foot. 

The day was damp and cloudy, but not cold; and the low, level countryseemed to him fairer than he had ever known it to look before. He had asense of delight in the soft elasticity of the wet grass under hisfeet and in the shy, wondering eyes of the wild spring flowers by theroadside. In a thorn-acacia bush at the edge of a little strip of wooda bird was building a nest, and flew up as he passed with a startled cryand a quick fluttering of brown wings. 

He tried to keep his mind fixed upon the devout meditations proper tothe eve of Good Friday. But thoughts of Montanelli and Gemma got somuch in the way of this devotional exercise that at last he gave up theattempt and allowed his fancy to drift away to the wonders and gloriesof the coming insurrection, and to the part in it that he had allottedto his two idols. The Padre was to be the leader, the apostle, theprophet before whose sacred wrath the powers of darkness were to flee, and at whose feet the young defenders of Liberty were to learnafresh the old doctrines, the old truths in their new and unimaginedsignificance. 

And Gemma? Oh, Gemma would fight at the barricades. She was made of theclay from which heroines are moulded; she would be the perfect comrade, the maiden undefiled and unafraid, of whom so many poets have dreamed. She would stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder, rejoicing under thewinged death-storm; and they would die together, perhaps in the momentof victory--without doubt there would be a victory. Of his love he wouldtell her nothing; he would say no word that might disturb her peace orspoil her tranquil sense of comradeship. She was to him a holy thing, a spotless victim to be laid upon the altar as a burnt-offering for thedeliverance of the people; and who was he that he should enter into thewhite sanctuary of a soul that knew no other love than God and Italy?

God and Italy----Then came a sudden drop from the clouds as he enteredthe great, dreary house in the "Street of Palaces, " and Julia's butler, immaculate, calm, and politely disapproving as ever, confronted him uponthe stairs. 

"Good-evening, Gibbons; are my brothers in?"

"Mr. Thomas is in, sir; and Mrs. Burton. They are in the drawing room. "

Arthur went in with a dull sense of oppression. What a dismal houseit was! The flood of life seemed to roll past and leave it always justabove high-water mark. Nothing in it ever changed--neither the people, nor the family portraits, nor the heavy furniture and ugly plate, northe vulgar ostentation of riches, nor the lifeless aspect of everything. Even the flowers on the brass stands looked like painted metal flowersthat had never known the stirring of young sap within them in the warmspring days. Julia, dressed for dinner, and waiting for visitors in thedrawing room which was to her the centre of existence, might have satfor a fashion-plate just as she was, with her wooden smile and flaxenringlets, and the lap-dog on her knee. 

"How do you do, Arthur?" she said stiffly, giving him the tips of herfingers for a moment, and then transferring them to the more congenialcontact of the lap-dog's silken coat. "I hope you are quite well andhave made satisfactory progress at college. "

Arthur murmured the first commonplace that he could think of at themoment, and relapsed into uncomfortable silence. The arrival ofJames, in his most pompous mood and accompanied by a stiff, elderlyshipping-agent, did not improve matters; and when Gibbons announced thatdinner was served, Arthur rose with a little sigh of relief. 

"I won't come to dinner, Julia. If you'll excuse me I will go to myroom. "

"You're overdoing that fasting, my boy, " said Thomas; "I am sure you'llmake yourself ill. "

"Oh, no! Good-night. "

In the corridor Arthur met the under housemaid and asked her to knock athis door at six in the morning. 

"The signorino is going to church?"

"Yes. Good-night, Teresa. "

He went into his room. It had belonged to his mother, and the alcoveopposite the window had been fitted up during her long illness as anoratory. A great crucifix on a black pedestal occupied the middle of thealtar; and before it hung a little Roman lamp. This was the room whereshe had died. Her portrait was on the wall beside the bed; and on thetable stood a china bowl which had been hers, filled with a great bunchof her favourite violets. It was just a year since her death; and theItalian servants had not forgotten her. 

He took out of his portmanteau a framed picture, carefully wrapped up. It was a crayon portrait of Montanelli, which had come from Rome only afew days before. He was unwrapping this precious treasure when Julia'spage brought in a supper-tray on which the old Italian cook, who hadserved Gladys before the harsh, new mistress came, had placed suchlittle delicacies as she considered her dear signorino might permithimself to eat without infringing the rules of the Church. Arthurrefused everything but a piece of bread; and the page, a nephew ofGibbons, lately arrived from England, grinned significantly as hecarried out the tray. He had already joined the Protestant camp in theservants' hall. 

Arthur went into the alcove and knelt down before the crucifix, tryingto compose his mind to the proper attitude for prayer and meditation. But this he found difficult to accomplish. He had, as Thomas said, rather overdone the Lenten privations, and they had gone to his headlike strong wine. Little quivers of excitement went down his back, andthe crucifix swam in a misty cloud before his eyes. It was only after along litany, mechanically repeated, that he succeeded in recalling hiswandering imagination to the mystery of the Atonement. At last sheerphysical weariness conquered the feverish agitation of his nerves, andhe lay down to sleep in a calm and peaceful mood, free from all unquietor disturbing thoughts. 

He was fast asleep when a sharp, impatient knock came at his door. "Ah, Teresa!" he thought, turning over lazily. The knock was repeated, and heawoke with a violent start. 

"Signorino! signorino!" cried a man's voice in Italian; "get up for thelove of God!"

Arthur jumped out of bed. 

"What is the matter? Who is it?"

"It's I, Gian Battista. Get up, quick, for Our Lady's sake!"

Arthur hurriedly dressed and opened the door. As he stared in perplexityat the coachman's pale, terrified face, the sound of tramping feet andclanking metal came along the corridor, and he suddenly realized thetruth. 

"For me?" he asked coolly. 

"For you! Oh, signorino, make haste! What have you to hide? See, I canput----"

"I have nothing to hide. Do my brothers know?"

The first uniform appeared at the turn of the passage. 

"The signor has been called; all the house is awake. Alas! what amisfortune--what a terrible misfortune! And on Good Friday! Holy Saints, have pity!"

Gian Battista burst into tears. Arthur moved a few steps forward andwaited for the gendarmes, who came clattering along, followed by ashivering crowd of servants in various impromptu costumes. As thesoldiers surrounded Arthur, the master and mistress of the housebrought up the rear of this strange procession; he in dressing gown andslippers, she in a long peignoir, with her hair in curlpapers. 

"There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are coming tothe ark! Here comes a pair of very strange beasts!"

The quotation flashed across Arthur's mind as he looked at thegrotesque figures. He checked a laugh with a sense of its jarringincongruity--this was a time for worthier thoughts. "Ave Maria, ReginaCoeli!" he whispered, and turned his eyes away, that the bobbing ofJulia's curlpapers might not again tempt him to levity. 

"Kindly explain to me, " said Mr. Burton, approaching the officer ofgendarmerie, "what is the meaning of this violent intrusion into aprivate house? I warn you that, unless you are prepared to furnish mewith a satisfactory explanation, I shall feel bound to complain to theEnglish Ambassador. "

"I presume, " replied the officer stiffly, "that you will recognize thisas a sufficient explanation; the English Ambassador certainly will. "He pulled out a warrant for the arrest of Arthur Burton, student ofphilosophy, and, handing it to James, added coldly: "If you wish forany further explanation, you had better apply in person to the chief ofpolice. "

Julia snatched the paper from her husband, glanced over it, and flew atArthur like nothing else in the world but a fashionable lady in a rage. 

"So it's you that have disgraced the family!" she screamed; "setting allthe rabble in the town gaping and staring as if the thing were a show?So you have turned jail-bird, now, with all your piety! It's what wemight have expected from that Popish woman's child----"

"You must not speak to a prisoner in a foreign language, madam, " theofficer interrupted; but his remonstrance was hardly audible under thetorrent of Julia's vociferous English. 

"Just what we might have expected! Fasting and prayer and saintlymeditation; and this is what was underneath it all! I thought that wouldbe the end of it. "

Dr. Warren had once compared Julia to a salad into which the cook hadupset the vinegar cruet. The sound of her thin, hard voice set Arthur'steeth on edge, and the simile suddenly popped up in his memory. 

"There's no use in this kind of talk, " he said. "You need not be afraidof any unpleasantness; everyone will understand that you are all quiteinnocent. I suppose, gentlemen, you want to search my things. I havenothing to hide. "

While the gendarmes ransacked the room, reading his letters, examininghis college papers, and turning out drawers and boxes, he sat waitingon the edge of the bed, a little flushed with excitement, but in noway distressed. The search did not disquiet him. He had always burnedletters which could possibly compromise anyone, and beyond a fewmanuscript verses, half revolutionary, half mystical, and two or threenumbers of Young Italy, the gendarmes found nothing to repay them fortheir trouble. Julia, after a long resistance, yielded to the entreatiesof her brother-in-law and went back to bed, sweeping past Arthur withmagnificent disdain, James meekly following. 

When they had left the room, Thomas, who all this while had beentramping up and down, trying to look indifferent, approached the officerand asked permission to speak to the prisoner. Receiving a nod inanswer, he went up to Arthur and muttered in a rather husky voice:

"I say; this is an infernally awkward business. I'm very sorry aboutit. "

Arthur looked up with a face as serene as a summer morning. "You havealways been good to me, " he said. "There's nothing to be sorry about. Ishall be safe enough. "

"Look here, Arthur!" Thomas gave his moustache a hard pull and plungedhead first into the awkward question. "Is--all this anything to dowith--money? Because, if it is, I----"

"With money! Why, no! What could it have to do----"

"Then it's some political tomfoolery? I thought so. Well, don't you getdown in the mouth--and never mind all the stuff Julia talks. It's onlyher spiteful tongue; and if you want help, --cash, or anything, --let meknow, will you?"

Arthur held out his hand in silence, and Thomas left the room with acarefully made-up expression of unconcern that rendered his face morestolid than ever. 

The gendarmes, meanwhile, had finished their search, and the officer incharge requested Arthur to put on his outdoor clothes. He obeyed at onceand turned to leave the room; then stopped with sudden hesitation. Itseemed hard to take leave of his mother's oratory in the presence ofthese officials. 

"Have you any objection to leaving the room for a moment?" he asked. "You see that I cannot escape and that there is nothing to conceal. "

"I am sorry, but it is forbidden to leave a prisoner alone. "

"Very well, it doesn't matter. "

He went into the alcove, and, kneeling down, kissed the feet andpedestal of the crucifix, whispering softly: "Lord, keep me faithfulunto death. "

When he rose, the officer was standing by the table, examiningMontanelli's portrait. "Is this a relative of yours?" he asked. 

"No; it is my confessor, the new Bishop of Brisighella. "

On the staircase the Italian servants were waiting, anxious andsorrowful. They all loved Arthur for his own sake and his mother's, andcrowded round him, kissing his hands and dress with passionate grief. Gian Battista stood by, the tears dripping down his gray moustache. Noneof the Burtons came out to take leave of him. Their coldness accentuatedthe tenderness and sympathy of the servants, and Arthur was near tobreaking down as he pressed the hands held out to him. 

"Good-bye, Gian Battista. Kiss the little ones for me. Good-bye, Teresa. Pray for me, all of you; and God keep you! Good-bye, good-bye!"

He ran hastily downstairs to the front door. A moment later only alittle group of silent men and sobbing women stood on the doorstepwatching the carriage as it drove away. 

CHAPTER VI. 

ARTHUR was taken to the huge mediaeval fortress at the harbour's mouth. He found prison life fairly endurable. His cell was unpleasantly dampand dark; but he had been brought up in a palace in the Via Borra, andneither close air, rats, nor foul smells were novelties to him. Thefood, also, was both bad and insufficient; but James soon obtainedpermission to send him all the necessaries of life from home. He waskept in solitary confinement, and, though the vigilance of thewarders was less strict than he had expected, he failed to obtain anyexplanation of the cause of his arrest. Nevertheless, the tranquil frameof mind in which he had entered the fortress did not change. Not beingallowed books, he spent his time in prayer and devout meditation, andwaited without impatience or anxiety for the further course of events. 

One day a soldier unlocked the door of his cell and called to him: "Thisway, please!" After two or three questions, to which he got no answerbut, "Talking is forbidden, " Arthur resigned himself to the inevitableand followed the soldier through a labyrinth of courtyards, corridors, and stairs, all more or less musty-smelling, into a large, light room inwhich three persons in military uniform sat at a long table covered withgreen baize and littered with papers, chatting in a languid, desultoryway. They put on a stiff, business air as he came in, and the oldest ofthem, a foppish-looking man with gray whiskers and a colonel's uniform, pointed to a chair on the other side of the table and began thepreliminary interrogation. 

Arthur had expected to be threatened, abused, and sworn at, and hadprepared himself to answer with dignity and patience; but he waspleasantly disappointed. The colonel was stiff, cold and formal, but perfectly courteous. The usual questions as to his name, age, nationality, and social position were put and answered, and the replieswritten down in monotonous succession. He was beginning to feel boredand impatient, when the colonel asked:

"And now, Mr. Burton, what do you know about Young Italy?"

"I know that it is a society which publishes a newspaper in Marseillesand circulates it in Italy, with the object of inducing people to revoltand drive the Austrian army out of the country. "

"You have read this paper, I think?"

"Yes; I am interested in the subject. "

"When you read it you realized that you were committing an illegalaction?"

"Certainly. "

"Where did you get the copies which were found in your room?"

"That I cannot tell you. "

"Mr. Burton, you must not say 'I cannot tell' here; you are bound toanswer my questions. "

"I will not, then, if you object to 'cannot. '"

"You will regret it if you permit yourself to use such expressions, "remarked the colonel. As Arthur made no reply, he went on:

"I may as well tell you that evidence has come into our hands provingyour connection with this society to be much more intimate than isimplied by the mere reading of forbidden literature. It will be to youradvantage to confess frankly. In any case the truth will be sure to comeout, and you will find it useless to screen yourself behind evasion anddenials. "

"I have no desire to screen myself. What is it you want to know?"

"Firstly, how did you, a foreigner, come to be implicated in matters ofthis kind?"

"I thought about the subject and read everything I could get hold of, and formed my own conclusions. "

"Who persuaded you to join this society?"

"No one; I wished to join it. "

"You are shilly-shallying with me, " said the colonel, sharply; hispatience was evidently beginning to give out. "No one can join a societyby himself. To whom did you communicate your wish to join it?"

Silence. 

"Will you have the kindness to answer me?"

"Not when you ask questions of that kind. "

Arthur spoke sullenly; a curious, nervous irritability was takingpossession of him. He knew by this time that many arrests had been madein both Leghorn and Pisa; and, though still ignorant of the extent ofthe calamity, he had already heard enough to put him into a fever ofanxiety for the safety of Gemma and his other friends. The studiedpoliteness of the officers, the dull game of fencing and parrying, ofinsidious questions and evasive answers, worried and annoyed him, andthe clumsy tramping backward and forward of the sentinel outside thedoor jarred detestably upon his ear. 

"Oh, by the bye, when did you last meet Giovanni Bolla?" asked thecolonel, after a little more bandying of words. "Just before you leftPisa, was it?"

"I know no one of that name. "

"What! Giovanni Bolla? Surely you know him--a tall young fellow, closelyshaven. Why, he is one of your fellow-students. "

"There are many students in the university whom I don't know. "

"Oh, but you must know Bolla, surely! Look, this is his handwriting. Yousee, he knows you well enough. "

The colonel carelessly handed him a paper headed: "Protocol, " andsigned: "Giovanni Bolla. " Glancing down it Arthur came upon his ownname. He looked up in surprise. "Am I to read it?"

"Yes, you may as well; it concerns you. "

He began to read, while the officers sat silently watching his face. Thedocument appeared to consist of depositions in answer to a long stringof questions. Evidently Bolla, too, must have been arrested. The firstdepositions were of the usual stereotyped character; then followeda short account of Bolla's connection with the society, of thedissemination of prohibited literature in Leghorn, and of the students'meetings. Next came "Among those who joined us was a young Englishman, Arthur Burton, who belongs to one of the rich shipowning families. "

The blood rushed into Arthur's face. Bolla had betrayed him! Bolla, whohad taken upon himself the solemn duties of an initiator--Bolla, who hadconverted Gemma--who was in love with her! He laid down the paper andstared at the floor. 

"I hope that little document has refreshed your memory?" hinted thecolonel politely. 

Arthur shook his head. "I know no one of that name, " he repeated in adull, hard voice. "There must be some mistake. "

"Mistake? Oh, nonsense! Come, Mr. Burton, chivalry and quixotism arevery fine things in their way; but there's no use in overdoing them. It's an error all you young people fall into at first. Come, think! Whatgood is it for you to compromise yourself and spoil your prospects inlife over a simple formality about a man that has betrayed you? You seeyourself, he wasn't so particular as to what he said about you. "

A faint shade of something like mockery had crept into the colonel'svoice. Arthur looked up with a start; a sudden light flashed upon hismind. 

"It's a lie!" he cried out. "It's a forgery! I can see it in your face, you cowardly----You've got some prisoner there you want to compromise, or a trap you want to drag me into. You are a forger, and a liar, and ascoundrel----"

"Silence!" shouted the colonel, starting up in a rage; his twocolleagues were already on their feet. "Captain Tommasi, " he went on, turning to one of them, "ring for the guard, if you please, and havethis young gentleman put in the punishment cell for a few days. He wantsa lesson, I see, to bring him to reason. "

The punishment cell was a dark, damp, filthy hole under ground. Insteadof bringing Arthur "to reason, " it thoroughly exasperated him. Hisluxurious home had rendered him daintily fastidious about personalcleanliness, and the first effect of the slimy, vermin-covered walls, the floor heaped with accumulations of filth and garbage, the fearfulstench of fungi and sewage and rotting wood, was strong enough to havesatisfied the offended officer. When he was pushed in and the doorlocked behind him he took three cautious steps forward with outstretchedhands, shuddering with disgust as his fingers came into contact withthe slippery wall, and groped in the dense blackness for some spot lessfilthy than the rest in which to sit down. 

The long day passed in unbroken blackness and silence, and the nightbrought no change. In the utter void and absence of all externalimpressions, he gradually lost the consciousness of time; and when, on the following morning, a key was turned in the door lock, and thefrightened rats scurried past him squeaking, he started up in a suddenpanic, his heart throbbing furiously and a roaring noise in his ears, asthough he had been shut away from light and sound for months instead ofhours. 

The door opened, letting in a feeble lantern gleam--a flood of blindinglight, it seemed to him--and the head warder entered, carrying a pieceof bread and a mug of water. Arthur made a step forward; he was quiteconvinced that the man had come to let him out. Before he had time tospeak, the warder put the bread and mug into his hands, turned round andwent away without a word, locking the door again. 

Arthur stamped his foot upon the ground. For the first time in his lifehe was savagely angry. But as the hours went by, the consciousness oftime and place gradually slipped further and further away. The blacknessseemed an illimitable thing, with no beginning and no end, and life had, as it were, stopped for him. On the evening of the third day, when thedoor was opened and the head warder appeared on the threshold with asoldier, he looked up, dazed and bewildered, shading his eyes from theunaccustomed light, and vaguely wondering how many hours or weeks he hadbeen in this grave. 

"This way, please, " said the cool business voice of the warder. Arthurrose and moved forward mechanically, with a strange unsteadiness, swaying and stumbling like a drunkard. He resented the warder's attemptto help him up the steep, narrow steps leading to the courtyard; but ashe reached the highest step a sudden giddiness came over him, so that hestaggered and would have fallen backwards had the warder not caught himby the shoulder. 

 *****

"There, he'll be all right now, " said a cheerful voice; "they most ofthem go off this way coming out into the air. "

Arthur struggled desperately for breath as another handful of waterwas dashed into his face. The blackness seemed to fall away from himin pieces with a rushing noise; then he woke suddenly into fullconsciousness, and, pushing aside the warder's arm, walked along thecorridor and up the stairs almost steadily. They stopped for a moment infront of a door; then it opened, and before he realized where they weretaking him he was in the brightly lighted interrogation room, staring inconfused wonder at the table and the papers and the officers sitting intheir accustomed places. 

"Ah, it's Mr. Burton!" said the colonel. "I hope we shall be able totalk more comfortably now. Well, and how do you like the dark cell? Notquite so luxurious as your brother's drawing room, is it? eh?"

Arthur raised his eyes to the colonel's smiling face. He was seized bya frantic desire to spring at the throat of this gray-whiskered fop andtear it with his teeth. Probably something of this kind was visible inhis face, for the colonel added immediately, in a quite different tone:

"Sit down, Mr. Burton, and drink some water; you are excited. "

Arthur pushed aside the glass of water held out to him; and, leaning hisarms on the table, rested his forehead on one hand and tried tocollect his thoughts. The colonel sat watching him keenly, noting withexperienced eyes the unsteady hands and lips, the hair dripping withwater, the dim gaze that told of physical prostration and disorderednerves. 

"Now, Mr. Burton, " he said after a few minutes; "we will start at thepoint where we left off; and as there has been a certain amount ofunpleasantness between us, I may as well begin by saying that I, for mypart, have no desire to be anything but indulgent with you. If you willbehave properly and reasonably, I assure you that we shall not treat youwith any unnecessary harshness. "

"What do you want me to do?"

Arthur spoke in a hard, sullen voice, quite different from his naturaltone. 

"I only want you to tell us frankly, in a straightforward and honourablemanner, what you know of this society and its adherents. First of all, how long have you known Bolla?"

"I never met him in my life. I know nothing whatever about him. "

"Really? Well, we will return to that subject presently. I think youknow a young man named Carlo Bini?"

"I never heard of such a person. "

"That is very extraordinary. What about Francesco Neri?"

"I never heard the name. "

"But here is a letter in your handwriting, addressed to him. Look!"

Arthur glanced carelessly at the letter and laid it aside. 

"Do you recognize that letter?"

"No. "

"You deny that it is in your writing?"

"I deny nothing. I have no recollection of it. "

"Perhaps you remember this one?"

A second letter was handed to him, and he saw that it was one which hehad written in the autumn to a fellow-student. 

"No. "

"Nor the person to whom it is addressed?"

"Nor the person. "

"Your memory is singularly short. "

"It is a defect from which I have always suffered. "

"Indeed! And I heard the other day from a university professor that youare considered by no means deficient; rather clever in fact. "

"You probably judge of cleverness by the police-spy standard; universityprofessors use words in a different sense. "

The note of rising irritation was plainly audible in Arthur's voice. Hewas physically exhausted with hunger, foul air, and want of sleep; everybone in his body seemed to ache separately; and the colonel's voicegrated on his exasperated nerves, setting his teeth on edge like thesqueak of a slate pencil. 

"Mr. Burton, " said the colonel, leaning back in his chair and speakinggravely, "you are again forgetting yourself; and I warn you once morethat this kind of talk will do you no good. Surely you have had enoughof the dark cell not to want any more just for the present. I tell youplainly that I shall use strong measures with you if you persist inrepulsing gentle ones. Mind, I have proof--positive proof--that someof these young men have been engaged in smuggling prohibited literatureinto this port; and that you have been in communication with them. Now, are you going to tell me, without compulsion, what you know about thisaffair?"

Arthur bent his head lower. A blind, senseless, wild-beast fury wasbeginning to stir within him like a live thing. The possibility oflosing command over himself was more appalling to him than any threats. For the first time he began to realize what latent potentialities maylie hidden beneath the culture of any gentleman and the piety of anyChristian; and the terror of himself was strong upon him. 

"I am waiting for your answer, " said the colonel. 

"I have no answer to give. "

"You positively refuse to answer?"

"I will tell you nothing at all. "

"Then I must simply order you back into the punishment cell, and keepyou there till you change your mind. If there is much more trouble withyou, I shall put you in irons. "

Arthur looked up, trembling from head to foot. "You will do as youplease, " he said slowly; "and whether the English Ambassador will standyour playing tricks of that kind with a British subject who has not beenconvicted of any crime is for him to decide. "

At last Arthur was conducted back to his own cell, where he flunghimself down upon the bed and slept till the next morning. He was notput in irons, and saw no more of the dreaded dark cell; but thefeud between him and the colonel grew more inveterate with everyinterrogation. It was quite useless for Arthur to pray in his cell forgrace to conquer his evil passions, or to meditate half the night longupon the patience and meekness of Christ. No sooner was he brought againinto the long, bare room with its baize-covered table, and confrontedwith the colonel's waxed moustache, than the unchristian spirit wouldtake possession of him once more, suggesting bitter repartees andcontemptuous answers. Before he had been a month in the prison themutual irritation had reached such a height that he and the colonelcould not see each other's faces without losing their temper. 

The continual strain of this petty warfare was beginning to tell heavilyupon his nerves. Knowing how closely he was watched, and rememberingcertain dreadful rumours which he had heard of prisoners secretlydrugged with belladonna that notes might be taken of their ravings, hegradually became afraid to sleep or eat; and if a mouse ran past him inthe night, would start up drenched with cold sweat and quivering withterror, fancying that someone was hiding in the room to listen if hetalked in his sleep. The gendarmes were evidently trying to entrap himinto making some admission which might compromise Bolla; and so greatwas his fear of slipping, by any inadvertency, into a pitfall, that hewas really in danger of doing so through sheer nervousness. Bolla's namerang in his ears night and day, interfering even with his devotions, andforcing its way in among the beads of the rosary instead of the name ofMary. But the worst thing of all was that his religion, like the outerworld, seemed to be slipping away from him as the days went by. To thislast foothold he clung with feverish tenacity, spending several hoursof each day in prayer and meditation; but his thoughts wandered more andmore often to Bolla, and the prayers were growing terribly mechanical. 

His greatest comfort was the head warder of the prison. This was alittle old man, fat and bald, who at first had tried his hardest to weara severe expression. Gradually the good nature which peeped out of everydimple in his chubby face conquered his official scruples, and he begancarrying messages for the prisoners from cell to cell. 

One afternoon in the middle of May this warder came into the cell with aface so scowling and gloomy that Arthur looked at him in astonishment. 

"Why, Enrico!" he exclaimed; "what on earth is wrong with you to-day?"

"Nothing, " said Enrico snappishly; and, going up to the pallet, he beganpulling off the rug, which was Arthur's property. 

"What do you want with my things? Am I to be moved into another cell?"

"No; you're to be let out. "

"Let out? What--to-day? For altogether? Enrico!"

In his excitement Arthur had caught hold of the old man's arm. It wasangrily wrenched away. 

"Enrico! What has come to you? Why don't you answer? Are we all going tobe let out?"

A contemptuous grunt was the only reply. 

"Look here!" Arthur again took hold of the warder's arm, laughing. "It is no use for you to be cross to me, because I'm not going to getoffended. I want to know about the others. "

"Which others?" growled Enrico, suddenly laying down the shirt he wasfolding. "Not Bolla, I suppose?"

"Bolla and all the rest, of course. Enrico, what is the matter withyou?"

"Well, he's not likely to be let out in a hurry, poor lad, when acomrade has betrayed him. Ugh!" Enrico took up the shirt again indisgust. 

"Betrayed him? A comrade? Oh, how dreadful!" Arthur's eyes dilated withhorror. Enrico turned quickly round. 

"Why, wasn't it you?"

"I? Are you off your head, man? I?"

"Well, they told him so yesterday at interrogation, anyhow. I'm veryglad if it wasn't you, for I always thought you were rather a decentyoung fellow. This way!" Enrico stepped out into the corridor and Arthurfollowed him, a light breaking in upon the confusion of his mind. 

"They told Bolla I'd betrayed him? Of course they did! Why, man, theytold me he had betrayed me. Surely Bolla isn't fool enough to believethat sort of stuff?"

"Then it really isn't true?" Enrico stopped at the foot of the stairsand looked searchingly at Arthur, who merely shrugged his shoulders. 

"Of course it's a lie. "

"Well, I'm glad to hear it, my lad, and I'll tell him you said so. Butyou see what they told him was that you had denounced him out of--well, out of jealousy, because of your both being sweet on the same girl. "

"It's a lie!" Arthur repeated the words in a quick, breathless whisper. A sudden, paralyzing fear had come over him. "The same girl--jealousy!"How could they know--how could they know?

"Wait a minute, my lad. " Enrico stopped in the corridor leading to theinterrogation room, and spoke softly. "I believe you; but just tell meone thing. I know you're a Catholic; did you ever say anything in theconfessional------"

"It's a lie!" This time Arthur's voice had risen to a stifled cry. 

Enrico shrugged his shoulders and moved on again. "You know best, ofcourse; but you wouldn't be the only young fool that's been taken inthat way. There's a tremendous ado just now about a priest in Pisa thatsome of your friends have found out. They've printed a leaflet sayinghe's a spy. "

He opened the door of the interrogation room, and, seeing that Arthurstood motionless, staring blankly before him, pushed him gently acrossthe threshold. 

"Good-afternoon, Mr. Burton, " said the colonel, smiling and showing histeeth amiably. "I have great pleasure in congratulating you. An orderfor your release has arrived from Florence. Will you kindly sign thispaper?"

Arthur went up to him. "I want to know, " he said in a dull voice, "whoit was that betrayed me. "

The colonel raised his eyebrows with a smile. 

"Can't you guess? Think a minute. "

Arthur shook his head. The colonel put out both hands with a gesture ofpolite surprise. 

"Can't guess? Really? Why, you yourself, Mr. Burton. Who else could knowyour private love affairs?"

Arthur turned away in silence. On the wall hung a large wooden crucifix;and his eyes wandered slowly to its face; but with no appeal in them, only a dim wonder at this supine and patient God that had no thunderboltfor a priest who betrayed the confessional. 

"Will you kindly sign this receipt for your papers?" said the colonelblandly; "and then I need not keep you any longer. I am sure you must bein a hurry to get home; and my time is very much taken up just now withthe affairs of that foolish young man, Bolla, who tried your Christianforbearance so hard. I am afraid he will get a rather heavy sentence. Good-afternoon!"

Arthur signed the receipt, took his papers, and went out in deadsilence. He followed Enrico to the massive gate; and, without a word offarewell, descended to the water's edge, where a ferryman was waiting totake him across the moat. As he mounted the stone steps leading tothe street, a girl in a cotton dress and straw hat ran up to him withoutstretched hands. 

"Arthur! Oh, I'm so glad--I'm so glad!"

He drew his hands away, shivering. 

"Jim!" he said at last, in a voice that did not seem to belong to him. "Jim!"

"I've been waiting here for half an hour. They said you would comeout at four. Arthur, why do you look at me like that? Something hashappened! Arthur, what has come to you? Stop!"

He had turned away, and was walking slowly down the street, as if hehad forgotten her presence. Thoroughly frightened at his manner, she ranafter him and caught him by the arm. 

"Arthur!"

He stopped and looked up with bewildered eyes. She slipped her armthrough his, and they walked on again for a moment in silence. 

"Listen, dear, " she began softly; "you mustn't get so upset over thiswretched business. I know it's dreadfully hard on you, but everybodyunderstands. "

"What business?" he asked in the same dull voice. 

"I mean, about Bolla's letter. "

Arthur's face contracted painfully at the name. 

"I thought you wouldn't have heard of it, " Gemma went on; "but I supposethey've told you. Bolla must be perfectly mad to have imagined such athing. "

"Such a thing----?"

"You don't know about it, then? He has written a horrible letter, saying that you have told about the steamers, and got him arrested. It'sperfectly absurd, of course; everyone that knows you sees that; it'sonly the people who don't know you that have been upset by it. Really, that's what I came here for--to tell you that no one in our groupbelieves a word of it. "

"Gemma! But it's--it's true!"

She shrank slowly away from him, and stood quite still, her eyes wideand dark with horror, her face as white as the kerchief at her neck. Agreat icy wave of silence seemed to have swept round them both, shuttingthem out, in a world apart, from the life and movement of the street. 

"Yes, " he whispered at last; "the steamers--I spoke of that; and I saidhis name--oh, my God! my God! What shall I do?"

He came to himself suddenly, realizing her presence and the mortalterror in her face. Yes, of course, she must think------

"Gemma, you don't understand!" he burst out, moving nearer; but sherecoiled with a sharp cry:

"Don't touch me!"

Arthur seized her right hand with sudden violence. 

"Listen, for God's sake! It was not my fault; I----"

"Let go; let my hand go! Let go!"

The next instant she wrenched her fingers away from his, and struck himacross the cheek with her open hand. 

A kind of mist came over his eyes. For a little while he was consciousof nothing but Gemma's white and desperate face, and the right handwhich she had fiercely rubbed on the skirt of her cotton dress. Thenthe daylight crept back again, and he looked round and saw that he wasalone. 

CHAPTER VII. 

IT had long been dark when Arthur rang at the front door of the greathouse in the Via Borra. He remembered that he had been wandering aboutthe streets; but where, or why, or for how long, he had no idea. Julia'spage opened the door, yawning, and grinned significantly at the haggard, stony face. It seemed to him a prodigious joke to have the young mastercome home from jail like a "drunk and disorderly" beggar. Arthur wentupstairs. On the first floor he met Gibbons coming down with an air oflofty and solemn disapproval. He tried to pass with a muttered "Goodevening"; but Gibbons was no easy person to get past against his will. 

"The gentlemen are out, sir, " he said, looking critically at Arthur'srather neglected dress and hair. "They have gone with the mistress to anevening party, and will not be back till nearly twelve. "

Arthur looked at his watch; it was nine o'clock. Oh, yes! he would havetime--plenty of time------

"My mistress desired me to ask whether you would like any supper, sir;and to say that she hopes you will sit up for her, as she particularlywishes to speak to you this evening. "

"I don't want anything, thank you; you can tell her I have not gone tobed. "

He went up to his room. Nothing in it had been changed since his arrest;Montanelli's portrait was on the table where he had placed it, andthe crucifix stood in the alcove as before. He paused a moment on thethreshold, listening; but the house was quite still; evidently no onewas coming to disturb him. He stepped softly into the room and lockedthe door. 

And so he had come to the end. There was nothing to think or troubleabout; an importunate and useless consciousness to get rid of--andnothing more. It seemed a stupid, aimless kind of thing, somehow. 

He had not formed any resolve to commit suicide, nor indeed had hethought much about it; the thing was quite obvious and inevitable. Hehad even no definite idea as to what manner of death to choose; all thatmattered was to be done with it quickly--to have it over and forget. Hehad no weapon in the room, not even a pocketknife; but that was of noconsequence--a towel would do, or a sheet torn into strips. 

There was a large nail just over the window. That would do; but it mustbe firm to bear his weight. He got up on a chair to feel the nail; itwas not quite firm, and he stepped down again and took a hammer from adrawer. He knocked in the nail, and was about to pull a sheet off hisbed, when he suddenly remembered that he had not said his prayers. Ofcourse, one must pray before dying; every Christian does that. There areeven special prayers for a departing soul. 

He went into the alcove and knelt down before the crucifix. "Almightyand merciful God----" he began aloud; and with that broke off and saidno more. Indeed, the world was grown so dull that there was nothing leftto pray for--or against. And then, what did Christ know about a troubleof this kind--Christ, who had never suffered it? He had only beenbetrayed, like Bolla; He had never been tricked into betraying. 

Arthur rose, crossing himself from old habit. Approaching the table, he saw lying upon it a letter addressed to him, in Montanelli'shandwriting. It was in pencil:

"My Dear Boy: It is a great disappointment to me that I cannot see youon the day of your release; but I have been sent for to visit a dyingman. I shall not get back till late at night. Come to me early to-morrowmorning. In great haste, "L. M. "

He put down the letter with a sigh; it did seem hard on the Padre. 

How the people had laughed and gossiped in the streets! Nothing wasaltered since the days when he had been alive. Not the least little oneof all the daily trifles round him was changed because a human soul, aliving human soul, had been struck down dead. It was all just the sameas before. The water had plashed in the fountains; the sparrows hadtwittered under the eaves; just as they had done yesterday, just as theywould do to-morrow. And as for him, he was dead--quite dead. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed, crossed his arms along thefoot-rail, and rested his forehead upon them. There was plenty of time;and his head ached so--the very middle of the brain seemed to ache; itwas all so dull and stupid--so utterly meaningless----

 *****

The front-door bell rang sharply, and he started up in a breathlessagony of terror, with both hands at his throat. They had come back--hehad sat there dreaming, and let the precious time slip away--and nowhe must see their faces and hear their cruel tongues--their sneers andcomments--If only he had a knife------

He looked desperately round the room. His mother's work-basket stoodin a little cupboard; surely there would be scissors; he might sever anartery. No; the sheet and nail were safer, if he had time. 

He dragged the counterpane from his bed, and with frantic haste begantearing off a strip. The sound of footsteps came up the stairs. No; thestrip was too wide; it would not tie firmly; and there must be a noose. He worked faster as the footsteps drew nearer; and the blood throbbedin his temples and roared in his ears. Quicker--quicker! Oh, God! fiveminutes more!

There was a knock at the door. The strip of torn stuff dropped from hishands, and he sat quite still, holding his breath to listen. The handleof the door was tried; then Julia's voice called:

"Arthur!"

He stood up, panting. 

"Arthur, open the door, please; we are waiting. "

He gathered up the torn counterpane, threw it into a drawer, and hastilysmoothed down the bed. 

"Arthur!" This time it was James who called, and the door-handle wasshaken impatiently. "Are you asleep?"

Arthur looked round the room, saw that everything was hidden, andunlocked the door. 

"I should think you might at least have obeyed my express request thatyou should sit up for us, Arthur, " said Julia, sweeping into the room ina towering passion. "You appear to think it the proper thing for us todance attendance for half an hour at your door----"

"Four minutes, my dear, " James mildly corrected, stepping into the roomat the end of his wife's pink satin train. "I certainly think, Arthur, that it would have been more--becoming if----"

"What do you want?" Arthur interrupted. He was standing with his handupon the door, glancing furtively from one to the other like a trappedanimal. But James was too obtuse and Julia too angry to notice the look. 

Mr. Burton placed a chair for his wife and sat down, carefully pullingup his new trousers at the knees. "Julia and I, " he began, "feel it tobe our duty to speak to you seriously about----"

"I can't listen to-night; I--I'm not well. My head aches--you mustwait. "

Arthur spoke in a strange, indistinct voice, with a confused andrambling manner. James looked round in surprise. 

"Is there anything the matter with you?" he asked anxiously, suddenlyremembering that Arthur had come from a very hotbed of infection. "Ihope you're not sickening for anything. You look quite feverish. "

"Nonsense!" Julia interrupted sharply. "It's only the usual theatricals, because he's ashamed to face us. Come here and sit down, Arthur. " Arthurslowly crossed the room and sat down on the bed. "Yes?" he said wearily. 

Mr. Burton coughed, cleared his throat, smoothed his already immaculatebeard, and began the carefully prepared speech over again:

"I feel it to be my duty--my painful duty--to speak very seriouslyto you about your extraordinary behaviour in connecting yourselfwith--a--law-breakers and incendiaries and--a--persons of disreputablecharacter. I believe you to have been, perhaps, more foolish thandepraved--a----"

He paused. 

"Yes?" Arthur said again. 

"Now, I do not wish to be hard on you, " James went on, softening alittle in spite of himself before the weary hopelessness of Arthur'smanner. "I am quite willing to believe that you have been led away bybad companions, and to take into account your youth and inexperience andthe--a--a--imprudent and--a--impulsive character which you have, I fear, inherited from your mother. "

Arthur's eyes wandered slowly to his mother's portrait and back again, but he did not speak. 

"But you will, I feel sure, understand, " James continued, "that it isquite impossible for me to keep any longer in my house a person who hasbrought public disgrace upon a name so highly respected as ours. "

"Yes?" Arthur repeated once more. 

"Well?" said Julia sharply, closing her fan with a snap and laying itacross her knee. "Are you going to have the goodness to say anything but'Yes, ' Arthur?"

"You will do as you think best, of course, " he answered slowly, withoutmoving. "It doesn't matter much either way. "

"Doesn't--matter?" James repeated, aghast; and his wife rose with alaugh. 

"Oh, it doesn't matter, doesn't it? Well, James, I hope you understandnow how much gratitude you may expect in that quarter. I told you whatwould come of showing charity to Papist adventuresses and their----"

"Hush, hush! Never mind that, my dear!"

"It's all nonsense, James; we've had more than enough of thissentimentality! A love-child setting himself up as a member of thefamily--it's quite time he did know what his mother was! Why shouldwe be saddled with the child of a Popish priest's amourettes? There, then--look!"

She pulled a crumpled sheet of paper out of her pocket and tossedit across the table to Arthur. He opened it; the writing was in hismother's hand, and was dated four months before his birth. It was aconfession, addressed to her husband, and with two signatures. 

Arthur's eyes travelled slowly down the page, past the unsteady lettersin which her name was written, to the strong, familiar signature:"Lorenzo Montanelli. " For a moment he stared at the writing; then, without a word, refolded the paper and laid it down. James rose and tookhis wife by the arm. 

"There, Julia, that will do. Just go downstairs now; it's late, and Iwant to talk a little business with Arthur. It won't interest you. "

She glanced up at her husband; then back at Arthur, who was silentlystaring at the floor. 

"He seems half stupid, " she whispered. 

When she had gathered up her train and left the room, James carefullyshut the door and went back to his chair beside the table. Arthur sat asbefore, perfectly motionless and silent. 

"Arthur, " James began in a milder tone, now Julia was not there to hear, "I am very sorry that this has come out. You might just as well not haveknown it. However, all that's over; and I am pleased to see that youcan behave with such self-control. Julia is a--a little excited; ladiesoften--anyhow, I don't want to be too hard on you. "

He stopped to see what effect the kindly words had produced; but Arthurwas quite motionless. 

"Of course, my dear boy, " James went on after a moment, "this is adistressing story altogether, and the best thing we can do is to holdour tongues about it. My father was generous enough not to divorce yourmother when she confessed her fall to him; he only demanded that theman who had led her astray should leave the country at once; and, asyou know, he went to China as a missionary. For my part, I was very muchagainst your having anything to do with him when he came back; but myfather, just at the last, consented to let him teach you, on conditionthat he never attempted to see your mother. I must, in justice, acknowledge that I believe they both observed that condition faithfullyto the end. It is a very deplorable business; but----"

Arthur looked up. All the life and expression had gone out of his face;it was like a waxen mask. 

"D-don't you think, " he said softly, with a curious stammeringhesitation on the words, "th-that--all this--is--v-very--funny?"

"FUNNY?" James pushed his chair away from the table, and sat staring athim, too much petrified for anger. "Funny! Arthur, are you mad?"

Arthur suddenly threw back his head, and burst into a frantic fit oflaughing. 

"Arthur!" exclaimed the shipowner, rising with dignity, "I am amazed atyour levity!"

There was no answer but peal after peal of laughter, so loud andboisterous that even James began to doubt whether there was notsomething more the matter here than levity. 

"Just like a hysterical woman, " he muttered, turning, with acontemptuous shrug of his shoulders, to tramp impatiently up anddown the room. "Really, Arthur, you're worse than Julia; there, stoplaughing! I can't wait about here all night. "

He might as well have asked the crucifix to come down from its pedestal. Arthur was past caring for remonstrances or exhortations; he onlylaughed, and laughed, and laughed without end. 

"This is absurd!" said James, stopping at last in his irritated pacingto and fro. "You are evidently too much excited to be reasonableto-night. I can't talk business with you if you're going on that way. Come to me to-morrow morning after breakfast. And now you had better goto bed. Good-night. "

He went out, slamming the door. "Now for the hysterics downstairs, " hemuttered as he tramped noisily away. "I suppose it'll be tears there!"

 *****

The frenzied laughter died on Arthur's lips. He snatched up the hammerfrom the table and flung himself upon the crucifix. 

With the crash that followed he came suddenly to his senses, standingbefore the empty pedestal, the hammer still in his hand, and thefragments of the broken image scattered on the floor about his feet. 

He threw down the hammer. "So easy!" he said, and turned away. "And whatan idiot I am!"

He sat down by the table, panting heavily for breath, and rested hisforehead on both hands. Presently he rose, and, going to the wash-stand, poured a jugful of cold water over his head and face. He came back quitecomposed, and sat down to think. 

And it was for such things as these--for these false and slavish people, these dumb and soulless gods--that he had suffered all these torturesof shame and passion and despair; had made a rope to hang himself, forsooth, because one priest was a liar. As if they were not all liars!Well, all that was done with; he was wiser now. He need only shake offthese vermin and begin life afresh. 

There were plenty of goods vessels in the docks; it would be an easymatter to stow himself away in one of them, and get across to Canada, Australia, Cape Colony--anywhere. It was no matter for the country, ifonly it was far enough; and, as for the life out there, he could see, and if it did not suit him he could try some other place. 

He took out his purse. Only thirty-three paoli; but his watch was agood one. That would help him along a bit; and in any case it was of noconsequence--he should pull through somehow. But they would searchfor him, all these people; they would be sure to make inquiries at thedocks. No; he must put them on a false scent--make them believe himdead; then he should be quite free--quite free. He laughed softly tohimself at the thought of the Burtons searching for his corpse. What afarce the whole thing was!

Taking a sheet of paper, he wrote the first words that occurred to him:

"I believed in you as I believed in God. God is a thing made of clay, that I can smash with a hammer; and you have fooled me with a lie. "

He folded up the paper, directed it to Montanelli, and, taking anothersheet, wrote across it: "Look for my body in Darsena. " Then he put onhis hat and went out of the room. Passing his mother's portrait, helooked up with a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders. She, too, had liedto him. 

He crept softly along the corridor, and, slipping back the door-bolts, went out on to the great, dark, echoing marble staircase. It seemed toyawn beneath him like a black pit as he descended. 

He crossed the courtyard, treading cautiously for fear of waking GianBattista, who slept on the ground floor. In the wood-cellar at the backwas a little grated window, opening on the canal and not more than fourfeet from the ground. He remembered that the rusty grating had brokenaway on one side; by pushing a little he could make an aperture wideenough to climb out by. 

The grating was strong, and he grazed his hands badly and tore thesleeve of his coat; but that was no matter. He looked up and down thestreet; there was no one in sight, and the canal lay black and silent, an ugly trench between two straight and slimy walls. The untrieduniverse might prove a dismal hole, but it could hardly be more flatand sordid than the corner which he was leaving behind him. There wasnothing to regret; nothing to look back upon. It had been a pestilentlittle stagnant world, full of squalid lies and clumsy cheats andfoul-smelling ditches that were not even deep enough to drown a man. 

He walked along the canal bank, and came out upon the tiny square by theMedici palace. It was here that Gemma had run up to him with her vividface, her outstretched hands. Here was the little flight of wet stonesteps leading down to the moat; and there the fortress scowling acrossthe strip of dirty water. He had never noticed before how squat and meanit looked. 

Passing through the narrow streets he reached the Darsenashipping-basin, where he took off his hat and flung it into the water. It would be found, of course, when they dragged for his body. Then hewalked on along the water's edge, considering perplexedly what to donext. He must contrive to hide on some ship; but it was a difficultthing to do. His only chance would be to get on to the huge oldMedici breakwater and walk along to the further end of it. There was alow-class tavern on the point; probably he should find some sailor therewho could be bribed. 

But the dock gates were closed. How should he get past them, and pastthe customs officials? His stock of money would not furnish the highbribe that they would demand for letting him through at night andwithout a passport. Besides they might recognize him. 

As he passed the bronze statue of the "Four Moors, " a man's figureemerged from an old house on the opposite side of the shipping basinand approached the bridge. Arthur slipped at once into the deep shadowbehind the group of statuary and crouched down in the darkness, peepingcautiously round the corner of the pedestal. 

It was a soft spring night, warm and starlit. The water lapped againstthe stone walls of the basin and swirled in gentle eddies round thesteps with a sound as of low laughter. Somewhere near a chain creaked, swinging slowly to and fro. A huge iron crane towered up, tall andmelancholy in the dimness. Black on a shimmering expanse of starry skyand pearly cloud-wreaths, the figures of the fettered, struggling slavesstood out in vain and vehement protest against a merciless doom. 

The man approached unsteadily along the water side, shouting an Englishstreet song. He was evidently a sailor returning from a carouse at sometavern. No one else was within sight. As he drew near, Arthur stood upand stepped into the middle of the roadway. The sailor broke off in hissong with an oath, and stopped short. 

"I want to speak to you, " Arthur said in Italian. "Do you understandme?"

The man shook his head. "It's no use talking that patter to me, " hesaid; then, plunging into bad French, asked sullenly: "What do you want?Why can't you let me pass?"

"Just come out of the light here a minute; I want to speak to you. "

"Ah! wouldn't you like it? Out of the light! Got a knife anywhere aboutyou?"

"No, no, man! Can't you see I only want your help? I'll pay you for it?"

"Eh? What? And dressed like a swell, too------" The sailor had relapsedinto English. He now moved into the shadow and leaned against therailing of the pedestal. 

"Well, " he said, returning to his atrocious French; "and what is it youwant?"

"I want to get away from here----"

"Aha! Stowaway! Want me to hide you? Been up to something, I suppose. Stuck a knife into somebody, eh? Just like these foreigners! And wheremight you be wanting to go? Not to the police station, I fancy?"

He laughed in his tipsy way, and winked one eye. 

"What vessel do you belong to?"

"Carlotta--Leghorn to Buenos Ayres; shipping oil one way and hidesthe other. She's over there"--pointing in the direction of thebreakwater--"beastly old hulk!"

"Buenos Ayres--yes! Can you hide me anywhere on board?"

"How much can you give?"

"Not very much; I have only a few paoli. "

"No. Can't do it under fifty--and cheap at that, too--a swell like you. "

"What do you mean by a swell? If you like my clothes you may change withme, but I can't give you more money than I have got. "

"You have a watch there. Hand it over. "

Arthur took out a lady's gold watch, delicately chased and enamelled, with the initials "G. B. " on the back. It had been his mother's--butwhat did that matter now?

"Ah!" remarked the sailor with a quick glance at it. "Stolen, of course!Let me look!"

Arthur drew his hand away. "No, " he said. "I will give you the watchwhen we are on board; not before. "

"You're not such a fool as you look, after all! I'll bet it's your firstscrape, though, eh?"

"That is my business. Ah! there comes the watchman. "

They crouched down behind the group of statuary and waited till thewatchman had passed. Then the sailor rose, and, telling Arthur tofollow him, walked on, laughing foolishly to himself. Arthur followed insilence. 

The sailor led him back to the little irregular square by the Medicipalace; and, stopping in a dark corner, mumbled in what was intended fora cautious whisper:

"Wait here; those soldier fellows will see you if you come further. "

"What are you going to do?"

"Get you some clothes. I'm not going to take you on board with thatbloody coatsleeve. "

Arthur glanced down at the sleeve which had been torn by the windowgrating. A little blood from the grazed hand had fallen upon it. Evidently the man thought him a murderer. Well, it was of no consequencewhat people thought. 

After some time the sailor came back, triumphant, with a bundle underhis arm. 

"Change, " he whispered; "and make haste about it. I must get back, andthat old Jew has kept me bargaining and haggling for half an hour. "

Arthur obeyed, shrinking with instinctive disgust at the first touch ofsecond-hand clothes. Fortunately these, though rough and coarse, werefairly clean. When he stepped into the light in his new attire, thesailor looked at him with tipsy solemnity and gravely nodded hisapproval. 

"You'll do, " he said. "This way, and don't make a noise. " Arthur, carrying his discarded clothes, followed him through a labyrinth ofwinding canals and dark narrow alleys; the mediaeval slum quarter whichthe people of Leghorn call "New Venice. " Here and there a gloomy oldpalace, solitary among the squalid houses and filthy courts, stoodbetween two noisome ditches, with a forlorn air of trying to preserveits ancient dignity and yet of knowing the effort to be a hopelessone. Some of the alleys, he knew, were notorious dens of thieves, cut-throats, and smugglers; others were merely wretched andpoverty-stricken. 

Beside one of the little bridges the sailor stopped, and, looking roundto see that they were not observed, descended a flight of stone stepsto a narrow landing stage. Under the bridge was a dirty, crazy old boat. Sharply ordering Arthur to jump in and lie down, he seated himself inthe boat and began rowing towards the harbour's mouth. Arthur lay stillon the wet and leaky planks, hidden by the clothes which the man hadthrown over him, and peeping out from under them at the familiar streetsand houses. 

Presently they passed under a bridge and entered that part of the canalwhich forms a moat for the fortress. The massive walls rose out of thewater, broad at the base and narrowing upward to the frowning turrets. How strong, how threatening they had seemed to him a few hours ago! Andnow----

He laughed softly as he lay in the bottom of the boat. 

"Hold your noise, " the sailor whispered, "and keep your head covered!We're close to the custom house. "

Arthur drew the clothes over his head. A few yards further on the boatstopped before a row of masts chained together, which lay across thesurface of the canal, blocking the narrow waterway between the customhouse and the fortress wall. A sleepy official came out yawning and bentover the water's edge with a lantern in his hand. 

"Passports, please. "

The sailor handed up his official papers. Arthur, half stifled under theclothes, held his breath, listening. 

"A nice time of night to come back to your ship!" grumbled the customsofficial. "Been out on the spree, I suppose. What's in your boat?"

"Old clothes. Got them cheap. " He held up the waistcoat for inspection. The official, lowering his lantern, bent over, straining his eyes tosee. 

"It's all right, I suppose. You can pass. "

He lifted the barrier and the boat moved slowly out into the dark, heaving water. At a little distance Arthur sat up and threw off theclothes. 

"Here she is, " the sailor whispered, after rowing for some time insilence. "Keep close behind me and hold your tongue. "

He clambered up the side of a huge black monster, swearing under hisbreath at the clumsiness of the landsman, though Arthur's naturalagility rendered him less awkward than most people would have been inhis place. Once safely on board, they crept cautiously between darkmasses of rigging and machinery, and came at last to a hatchway, whichthe sailor softly raised. 

"Down here!" he whispered. "I'll be back in a minute. "

The hold was not only damp and dark, but intolerably foul. At firstArthur instinctively drew back, half choked by the stench of raw hidesand rancid oil. Then he remembered the "punishment cell, " and descendedthe ladder, shrugging his shoulders. Life is pretty much the sameeverywhere, it seemed; ugly, putrid, infested with vermin, full ofshameful secrets and dark corners. Still, life is life, and he must makethe best of it. 

In a few minutes the sailor came back with something in his hands whichArthur could not distinctly see for the darkness. 

"Now, give me the watch and money. Make haste!"

Taking advantage of the darkness, Arthur succeeded in keeping back a fewcoins. 

"You must get me something to eat, " he said; "I am half starved. "

"I've brought it. Here you are. " The sailor handed him a pitcher, somehard biscuit, and a piece of salt pork. "Now mind, you must hide in thisempty barrel, here, when the customs officers come to examine to-morrowmorning. Keep as still as a mouse till we're right out at sea. I'll letyou know when to come out. And won't you just catch it when the captainsees you--that's all! Got the drink safe? Good-night!"

The hatchway closed, and Arthur, setting the precious "drink" in a safeplace, climbed on to an oil barrel to eat his pork and biscuit. Then hecurled himself up on the dirty floor; and, for the first time since hisbabyhood, settled himself to sleep without a prayer. The rats scurriedround him in the darkness; but neither their persistent noise nor theswaying of the ship, nor the nauseating stench of oil, nor the prospectof to-morrow's sea-sickness, could keep him awake. He cared no more forthem all than for the broken and dishonoured idols that only yesterdayhad been the gods of his adoration. 

PART II. 

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER. 

CHAPTER I. 

ONE evening in July, 1846, a few acquaintances met at ProfessorFabrizi's house in Florence to discuss plans for future political work. 

Several of them belonged to the Mazzinian party and would have beensatisfied with nothing less than a democratic Republic and a UnitedItaly. Others were Constitutional Monarchists and Liberals ofvarious shades. On one point, however, they were all agreed; that ofdissatisfaction with the Tuscan censorship; and the popular professorhad called the meeting in the hope that, on this one subject at least, the representatives of the dissentient parties would be able to getthrough an hour's discussion without quarrelling. 

Only a fortnight had elapsed since the famous amnesty which Pius IX. Hadgranted, on his accession, to political offenders in the Papal States;but the wave of liberal enthusiasm caused by it was already spreadingover Italy. In Tuscany even the government appeared to have beenaffected by the astounding event. It had occurred to Fabrizi and a fewother leading Florentines that this was a propitious moment for a boldeffort to reform the press-laws. 

"Of course, " the dramatist Lega had said, when the subject was firstbroached to him; "it would be impossible to start a newspaper till wecan get the press-law changed; we should not bring out the first number. But we may be able to run some pamphlets through the censorship already;and the sooner we begin the sooner we shall get the law changed. "

He was now explaining in Fabrizi's library his theory of the line whichshould be taken by liberal writers at the moment. 

"There is no doubt, " interposed one of the company, a gray-hairedbarrister with a rather drawling manner of speech, "that in some way wemust take advantage of the moment. We shall not see such a favourableone again for bringing forward serious reforms. But I doubt thepamphlets doing any good. They will only irritate and frighten thegovernment instead of winning it over to our side, which is what wereally want to do. If once the authorities begin to think of us asdangerous agitators our chance of getting their help is gone. "

"Then what would you have us do?"

"Petition. "

"To the Grand Duke?"

"Yes; for an augmentation of the liberty of the press. "

A keen-looking, dark man sitting by the window turned his head roundwith a laugh. 

"You'll get a lot out of petitioning!" he said. "I should have thoughtthe result of the Renzi case was enough to cure anybody of going to workthat way. "

"My dear sir, I am as much grieved as you are that we did not succeed inpreventing the extradition of Renzi. But really--I do not wish to hurtthe sensibilities of anyone, but I cannot help thinking that our failurein that case was largely due to the impatience and vehemence of somepersons among our number. I should certainly hesitate----"

"As every Piedmontese always does, " the dark man interrupted sharply. "Idon't know where the vehemence and impatience lay, unless you found themin the strings of meek petitions we sent in. That may be vehemence forTuscany or Piedmont, but we should not call it particularly vehement inNaples. "

"Fortunately, " remarked the Piedmontese, "Neapolitan vehemence ispeculiar to Naples. "

"There, there, gentlemen, that will do!" the professor put in. "Neapolitan customs are very good things in their way and Piedmontesecustoms in theirs; but just now we are in Tuscany, and the Tuscan customis to stick to the matter in hand. Grassini votes for petitions andGalli against them. What do you think, Dr. Riccardo?"

"I see no harm in petitions, and if Grassini gets one up I'll sign itwith all the pleasure in life. But I don't think mere petitioning andnothing else will accomplish much. Why can't we have both petitions andpamphlets?"

"Simply because the pamphlets will put the government into a state ofmind in which it won't grant the petitions, " said Grassini. 

"It won't do that anyhow. " The Neapolitan rose and came across to thetable. "Gentlemen, you're on the wrong tack. Conciliating the governmentwill do no good. What we must do is to rouse the people. "

"That's easier said than done; how are you going to start?"

"Fancy asking Galli that! Of course he'd start by knocking the censor onthe head. "

"No, indeed, I shouldn't, " said Galli stoutly. "You always think ifa man comes from down south he must believe in no argument but coldsteel. "

"Well, what do you propose, then? Sh! Attention, gentlemen! Galli has aproposal to make. "

The whole company, which had broken up into little knots of twos andthrees, carrying on separate discussions, collected round the table tolisten. Galli raised his hands in expostulation. 

"No, gentlemen, it is not a proposal; it is merely a suggestion. It appears to me that there is a great practical danger in all thisrejoicing over the new Pope. People seem to think that, because he hasstruck out a new line and granted this amnesty, we have only to throwourselves--all of us, the whole of Italy--into his arms and he willcarry us to the promised land. Now, I am second to no one in admirationof the Pope's behaviour; the amnesty was a splendid action. "

"I am sure His Holiness ought to feel flattered----" Grassini begancontemptuously. 

"There, Grassini, do let the man speak!" Riccardo interrupted in histurn. "It's a most extraordinary thing that you two never can keep fromsparring like a cat and dog. Get on, Galli!"

"What I wanted to say is this, " continued the Neapolitan. "The HolyFather, undoubtedly, is acting with the best intentions; but how far hewill succeed in carrying his reforms is another question. Just now it'ssmooth enough and, of course, the reactionists all over Italy will liequiet for a month or two till the excitement about the amnesty blowsover; but they are not likely to let the power be taken out of theirhands without a fight, and my own belief is that before the winter ishalf over we shall have Jesuits and Gregorians and Sanfedists andall the rest of the crew about our ears, plotting and intriguing, andpoisoning off everybody they can't bribe. "

"That's likely enough. "

"Very well, then; shall we wait here, meekly sending in petitions, tillLambruschini and his pack have persuaded the Grand Duke to put us bodilyunder Jesuit rule, with perhaps a few Austrian hussars to patrol thestreets and keep us in order; or shall we forestall them and takeadvantage of their momentary discomfiture to strike the first blow?"

"Tell us first what blow you propose?"

"I would suggest that we start an organized propaganda and agitationagainst the Jesuits. "

"A pamphleteering declaration of war, in fact?"

"Yes; exposing their intrigues, ferreting out their secrets, and callingupon the people to make common cause against them. "

"But there are no Jesuits here to expose. "

"Aren't there? Wait three months and see how many we shall have. It'llbe too late to keep them out then. "

"But really to rouse the town against the Jesuits one must speakplainly; and if you do that how will you evade the censorship?"

"I wouldn't evade it; I would defy it. "

"You would print the pamphlets anonymously? That's all very well, but the fact is, we have all seen enough of the clandestine press toknow----"

"I did not mean that. I would print the pamphlets openly, with our namesand addresses, and let them prosecute us if they dare. "

"The project is a perfectly mad one, " Grassini exclaimed. "It is simplyputting one's head into the lion's mouth out of sheer wantonness. "

"Oh, you needn't be afraid!" Galli cut in sharply; "we shouldn't ask youto go to prison for our pamphlets. "

"Hold your tongue, Galli!" said Riccardo. "It's not a question of beingafraid; we're all as ready as you are to go to prison if there's anygood to be got by it, but it is childish to run into danger for nothing. For my part, I have an amendment to the proposal to suggest. "

"Well, what is it?"

"I think we might contrive, with care, to fight the Jesuits withoutcoming into collision with the censorship. "

"I don't see how you are going to manage it. "

"I think that it is possible to clothe what one has to say in soroundabout a form that----"

"That the censorship won't understand it? And then you'll expect everypoor artisan and labourer to find out the meaning by the light ofthe ignorance and stupidity that are in him! That doesn't sound verypracticable. "

"Martini, what do you think?" asked the professor, turning to abroad-shouldered man with a great brown beard, who was sitting besidehim. 

"I think that I will reserve my opinion till I have more facts to goupon. It's a question of trying experiments and seeing what comes ofthem. "

"And you, Sacconi?"

"I should like to hear what Signora Bolla has to say. Her suggestionsare always valuable. "

Everyone turned to the only woman in the room, who had been sitting onthe sofa, resting her chin on one hand and listening in silence to thediscussion. She had deep, serious black eyes, but as she raised them nowthere was an unmistakable gleam of amusement in them. 

"I am afraid, " she said; "that I disagree with everybody. "

"You always do, and the worst of it is that you are always right, "Riccardo put in. 

"I think it is quite true that we must fight the Jesuits somehow; and ifwe can't do it with one weapon we must with another. But mere defianceis a feeble weapon and evasion a cumbersome one. As for petitioning, that is a child's toy. "

"I hope, signora, " Grassini interposed, with a solemn face; "that youare not suggesting such methods as--assassination?"

Martini tugged at his big moustache and Galli sniggered outright. Eventhe grave young woman could not repress a smile. 

"Believe me, " she said, "that if I were ferocious enough to think ofsuch things I should not be childish enough to talk about them. Butthe deadliest weapon I know is ridicule. If you can once succeed inrendering the Jesuits ludicrous, in making people laugh at them andtheir claims, you have conquered them without bloodshed. "

"I believe you are right, as far as that goes, " Fabrizi said; "but Idon't see how you are going to carry the thing through. "

"Why should we not be able to carry it through?" asked Martini. "Asatirical thing has a better chance of getting over the censorshipdifficulty than a serious one; and, if it must be cloaked, the averagereader is more likely to find out the double meaning of an apparentlysilly joke than of a scientific or economic treatise. "

"Then is your suggestion, signora, that we should issue satiricalpamphlets, or attempt to run a comic paper? That last, I am sure, thecensorship would never allow. "

"I don't mean exactly either. I believe a series of small satiricalleaflets, in verse or prose, to be sold cheap or distributed free aboutthe streets, would be very useful. If we could find a clever artistwho would enter into the spirit of the thing, we might have themillustrated. "

"It's a capital idea, if only one could carry it out; but if the thingis to be done at all it must be well done. We should want a first-classsatirist; and where are we to get him?"

"You see, " added Lega, "most of us are serious writers; and, withall respect to the company, I am afraid that a general attempt to behumorous would present the spectacle of an elephant trying to dance thetarantella. "

"I never suggested that we should all rush into work for which weare unfitted. My idea was that we should try to find a really giftedsatirist--there must be one to be got somewhere in Italy, surely--andoffer to provide the necessary funds. Of course we should have to knowsomething of the man and make sure that he would work on lines withwhich we could agree. "

"But where are you going to find him? I can count up the satiristsof any real talent on the fingers of one hand; and none of them areavailable. Giusti wouldn't accept; he is fully occupied as it is. Thereare one or two good men in Lombardy, but they write only in the Milanesedialect----"

"And moreover, " said Grassini, "the Tuscan people can be influenced inbetter ways than this. I am sure that it would be felt as, to say theleast, a want of political savoir faire if we were to treat this solemnquestion of civil and religious liberty as a subject for trifling. Florence is not a mere wilderness of factories and money-getting likeLondon, nor a haunt of idle luxury like Paris. It is a city with a greathistory------"

"So was Athens, " she interrupted, smiling; "but it was 'rather sluggishfrom its size and needed a gadfly to rouse it'----"

Riccardo struck his hand upon the table. "Why, we never thought of theGadfly! The very man!"

"Who is that?"

"The Gadfly--Felice Rivarez. Don't you remember him? One of Muratori'sband that came down from the Apennines three years ago?"

"Oh, you knew that set, didn't you? I remember your travelling with themwhen they went on to Paris. "

"Yes; I went as far as Leghorn to see Rivarez off for Marseilles. Hewouldn't stop in Tuscany; he said there was nothing left to do butlaugh, once the insurrection had failed, and so he had better go toParis. No doubt he agreed with Signor Grassini that Tuscany is the wrongplace to laugh in. But I am nearly sure he would come back if we askedhim, now that there is a chance of doing something in Italy. "

"What name did you say?"

"Rivarez. He's a Brazilian, I think. At any rate, I know he has livedout there. He is one of the wittiest men I ever came across. Heavenknows we had nothing to be merry over, that week in Leghorn; it wasenough to break one's heart to look at poor Lambertini; but there wasno keeping one's countenance when Rivarez was in the room; it was oneperpetual fire of absurdities. He had a nasty sabre-cut across the face, too; I remember sewing it up. He's an odd creature; but I believe heand his nonsense kept some of those poor lads from breaking downaltogether. "

"Is that the man who writes political skits in the French papers underthe name of 'Le Taon'?"

"Yes; short paragraphs mostly, and comic feuilletons. The smugglers upin the Apennines called him 'the Gadfly' because of his tongue; and hetook the nickname to sign his work with. "

"I know something about this gentleman, " said Grassini, breaking in uponthe conversation in his slow and stately manner; "and I cannot say thatwhat I have heard is much to his credit. He undoubtedly possesses acertain showy, superficial cleverness, though I think his abilities havebeen exaggerated; and possibly he is not lacking in physical courage;but his reputation in Paris and Vienna is, I believe, very far fromspotless. He appears to be a gentleman of--a--a--many adventures andunknown antecedents. It is said that he was picked up out of charity byDuprez's expedition somewhere in the wilds of tropical South America, in a state of inconceivable savagery and degradation. I believe he hasnever satisfactorily explained how he came to be in such a condition. Asfor the rising in the Apennines, I fear it is no secret that persons ofall characters took part in that unfortunate affair. The men who wereexecuted in Bologna are known to have been nothing but commonmalefactors; and the character of many who escaped will hardly beardescription. Without doubt, SOME of the participators were men of highcharacter----"

"Some of them were the intimate friends of several persons in thisroom!" Riccardo interrupted, with an angry ring in his voice. "It's allvery well to be particular and exclusive, Grassini; but these 'commonmalefactors' died for their belief, which is more than you or I havedone as yet. "

"And another time when people tell you the stale gossip of Paris, "added Galli, "you can tell them from me that they are mistaken aboutthe Duprez expedition. I know Duprez's adjutant, Martel, personally, andhave heard the whole story from him. It's true that they found Rivarezstranded out there. He had been taken prisoner in the war, fightingfor the Argentine Republic, and had escaped. He was wandering about thecountry in various disguises, trying to get back to Buenos Ayres. Butthe story of their taking him on out of charity is a pure fabrication. Their interpreter had fallen ill and been obliged to turn back; and notone of the Frenchmen could speak the native languages; so they offeredhim the post, and he spent the whole three years with them, exploringthe tributaries of the Amazon. Martel told me he believed they neverwould have got through the expedition at all if it had not been forRivarez. "

"Whatever he may be, " said Fabrizi; "there must be something remarkableabout a man who could lay his 'come hither' on two old campaigners likeMartel and Duprez as he seems to have done. What do you think, signora?"

"I know nothing about the matter; I was in England when the fugitivespassed through Tuscany. But I should think that if the companions whowere with a man on a three years' expedition in savage countries, andthe comrades who were with him through an insurrection, think well ofhim, that is recommendation enough to counterbalance a good deal ofboulevard gossip. "

"There is no question about the opinion his comrades had of him, "said Riccardo. "From Muratori and Zambeccari down to the roughestmountaineers they were all devoted to him. Moreover, he is a personalfriend of Orsini. It's quite true, on the other hand, that there areendless cock-and-bull stories of a not very pleasant kind going aboutconcerning him in Paris; but if a man doesn't want to make enemies heshouldn't become a political satirist. "

"I'm not quite sure, " interposed Lega; "but it seems to me that Isaw him once when the refugees were here. Was he not hunchbacked, orcrooked, or something of that kind?"

The professor had opened a drawer in his writing-table and was turningover a heap of papers. "I think I have his police description somewherehere, " he said. "You remember when they escaped and hid in the mountainpasses their personal appearance was posted up everywhere, and thatCardinal--what's the scoundrel's name?--Spinola, offered a reward fortheir heads. "

"There was a splendid story about Rivarez and that police paper, by theway. He put on a soldier's old uniform and tramped across country as acarabineer wounded in the discharge of his duty and trying to find hiscompany. He actually got Spinola's search-party to give him a lift, and rode the whole day in one of their waggons, telling them harrowingstories of how he had been taken captive by the rebels and dragged offinto their haunts in the mountains, and of the fearful tortures that hehad suffered at their hands. They showed him the description paper, andhe told them all the rubbish he could think of about 'the fiend theycall the Gadfly. ' Then at night, when they were asleep, he poured abucketful of water into their powder and decamped, with his pockets fullof provisions and ammunition------"

"Ah, here's the paper, " Fabrizi broke in: "'Felice Rivarez, called: TheGadfly. Age, about 30; birthplace and parentage, unknown, probably SouthAmerican; profession, journalist. Short; black hair; black beard; darkskin; eyes, blue; forehead, broad and square; nose, mouth, chin------'Yes, here it is: 'Special marks: right foot lame; left arm twisted; tworingers missing on left hand; recent sabre-cut across face; stammers. 'Then there's a note put: 'Very expert shot; care should be taken inarresting. '"

"It's an extraordinary thing that he can have managed to deceive thesearch-party with such a formidable list of identification marks. "

"It was nothing but sheer audacity that carried him through, of course. If it had once occurred to them to suspect him he would have been lost. But the air of confiding innocence that he can put on when he chooseswould bring a man through anything. Well, gentlemen, what do you thinkof the proposal? Rivarez seems to be pretty well known to several of thecompany. Shall we suggest to him that we should be glad of his help hereor not?"

"I think, " said Fabrizi, "that he might be sounded upon the subject, just to find out whether he would be inclined to think of the plan. "

"Oh, he'll be inclined, you may be sure, once it's a case of fightingthe Jesuits; he is the most savage anti-clerical I ever met; in fact, he's rather rabid on the point. "

"Then will you write, Riccardo?"

"Certainly. Let me see, where is he now? In Switzerland, I think. He'sthe most restless being; always flitting about. But as for the pamphletquestion----"

They plunged into a long and animated discussion. When at last thecompany began to disperse Martini went up to the quiet young woman. 

"I will see you home, Gemma. "

"Thanks; I want to have a business talk with you. "

"Anything wrong with the addresses?" he asked softly. 

"Nothing serious; but I think it is time to make a few alterations. Twoletters have been stopped in the post this week. They were both quiteunimportant, and it may have been accidental; but we cannot afford tohave any risks. If once the police have begun to suspect any of ouraddresses, they must be changed immediately. "

"I will come in about that to-morrow. I am not going to talk businesswith you to-night; you look tired. "

"I am not tired. "

"Then you are depressed again. "

"Oh, no; not particularly. "

CHAPTER II. 

"Is the mistress in, Katie?"

"Yes, sir; she is dressing. If you'll just step into the parlour shewill be down in a few minutes. "

Katie ushered the visitor in with the cheerful friendliness of a trueDevonshire girl. Martini was a special favourite of hers. He spokeEnglish, like a foreigner, of course, but still quite respectably; andhe never sat discussing politics at the top of his voice till one inthe morning, when the mistress was tired, as some visitors had a way ofdoing. Moreover, he had come to Devonshire to help the mistress in hertrouble, when her baby was dead and her husband dying there; and eversince that time the big, awkward, silent man had been to Katie as much"one of the family" as was the lazy black cat which now ensconced itselfupon his knee. Pasht, for his part, regarded Martini as a useful pieceof household furniture. This visitor never trod upon his tail, orpuffed tobacco smoke into his eyes, or in any way obtruded upon hisconsciousness an aggressive biped personality. He behaved as a mere manshould: provided a comfortable knee to lie upon and purr, and attable never forgot that to look on while human beings eat fish is notinteresting for a cat. The friendship between them was of old date. Once, when Pasht was a kitten and his mistress too ill to think abouthim, he had come from England under Martini's care, tucked away in abasket. Since then, long experience had convinced him that this clumsyhuman bear was no fair-weather friend. 

"How snug you look, you two!" said Gemma, coming into the room. "Onewould think you had settled yourselves for the evening. "

Martini carefully lifted the cat off his knee. "I came early, " he said, "in the hope that you will give me some tea before we start. There willprobably be a frightful crush, and Grassini won't give us any sensiblesupper--they never do in those fashionable houses. "

"Come now!" she said, laughing; "that's as bad as Galli! Poor Grassinihas quite enough sins of his own to answer for without having his wife'simperfect housekeeping visited upon his head. As for the tea, it will beready in a minute. Katie has been making some Devonshire cakes speciallyfor you. "

"Katie is a good soul, isn't she, Pasht? By the way, so are you to haveput on that pretty dress. I was afraid you would forget. "

"I promised you I would wear it, though it is rather warm for a hotevening like this. "

"It will be much cooler up at Fiesole; and nothing else ever suits youso well as white cashmere. I have brought you some flowers to wear withit. "

"Oh, those lovely cluster roses; I am so fond of them! But they had muchbetter go into water. I hate to wear flowers. "

"Now that's one of your superstitious fancies. "

"No, it isn't; only I think they must get so bored, spending all theevening pinned to such a dull companion. "

"I am afraid we shall all be bored to-night. The conversazione will bedull beyond endurance. "

"Why?"

"Partly because everything Grassini touches becomes as dull as himself. "

"Now don't be spiteful. It is not fair when we are going to be a man'sguests. "

"You are always right, Madonna. Well then, it will be dull because halfthe interesting people are not coming. "

"How is that?"

"I don't know. Out of town, or ill, or something. Anyway, there willbe two or three ambassadors and some learned Germans, and the usualnondescript crowd of tourists and Russian princes and literary clubpeople, and a few French officers; nobody else that I know of--except, of course, the new satirist, who is to be the attraction of theevening. "

"The new satirist? What, Rivarez? But I thought Grassini disapproved ofhim so strongly. "

"Yes; but once the man is here and is sure to be talked about, of courseGrassini wants his house to be the first place where the new lion willbe on show. You may be sure Rivarez has heard nothing of Grassini'sdisapproval. He may have guessed it, though; he's sharp enough. "

"I did not even know he had come. "

"He only arrived yesterday. Here comes the tea. No, don't get up; let mefetch the kettle. "

He was never so happy as in this little study. Gemma's friendship, hergrave unconsciousness of the charm she exercised over him, her frank andsimple comradeship were the brightest things for him in a life thatwas none too bright; and whenever he began to feel more than usuallydepressed he would come in here after business hours and sit with her, generally in silence, watching her as she bent over her needlework orpoured out tea. She never questioned him about his troubles or expressedany sympathy in words; but he always went away stronger and calmer, feeling, as he put it to himself, that he could "trudge through anotherfortnight quite respectably. " She possessed, without knowing it, therare gift of consolation; and when, two years ago, his dearest friendshad been betrayed in Calabria and shot down like wolves, her steadyfaith had been perhaps the thing which had saved him from despair. 

On Sunday mornings he sometimes came in to "talk business, " thatexpression standing for anything connected with the practical work ofthe Mazzinian party, of which they both were active and devoted members. She was quite a different creature then; keen, cool, and logical, perfectly accurate and perfectly neutral. Those who saw her only at herpolitical work regarded her as a trained and disciplined conspirator, trustworthy, courageous, in every way a valuable member of theparty, but somehow lacking in life and individuality. "She's a bornconspirator, worth any dozen of us; and she is nothing more, " Galli hadsaid of her. The "Madonna Gemma" whom Martini knew was very difficult toget at. 

"Well, and what is your 'new satirist' like?" she asked, glancing backover her shoulder as she opened the sideboard. "There, Cesare, thereare barley-sugar and candied angelica for you. I wonder, by the way, whyrevolutionary men are always so fond of sweets. "

"Other men are, too, only they think it beneath their dignity to confessit. The new satirist? Oh, the kind of man that ordinary women willrave over and you will dislike. A sort of professional dealer in sharpspeeches, that goes about the world with a lackadaisical manner and ahandsome ballet-girl dangling on to his coat-tails. "

"Do you mean that there is really a ballet-girl, or simply that you feelcross and want to imitate the sharp speeches?"

"The Lord defend me! No; the ballet-girl is real enough and handsomeenough, too, for those who like shrewish beauty. Personally, I don't. She's a Hungarian gipsy, or something of that kind, so Riccardo says;from some provincial theatre in Galicia. He seems to be rather a coolhand; he has been introducing the girl to people just as if she were hismaiden aunt. "

"Well, that's only fair if he has taken her away from her home. "

"You may look at things that way, dear Madonna, but society won't. Ithink most people will very much resent being introduced to a woman whomthey know to be his mistress. "

"How can they know it unless he tells them so?"

"It's plain enough; you'll see if you meet her. But I should think evenhe would not have the audacity to bring her to the Grassinis'. "

"They wouldn't receive her. Signora Grassini is not the woman to dounconventional things of that kind. But I wanted to hear about SignorRivarez as a satirist, not as a man. Fabrizi told me he had been writtento and had consented to come and take up the campaign against theJesuits; and that is the last I have heard. There has been such a rushof work this week. "

"I don't know that I can tell you much more. There doesn't seem to havebeen any difficulty over the money question, as we feared there wouldbe. He's well off, it appears, and willing to work for nothing. "

"Has he a private fortune, then?" "Apparently he has; though it seemsrather odd--you heard that night at Fabrizi's about the state the Duprezexpedition found him in. But he has got shares in mines somewhere out inBrazil; and then he has been immensely successful as a feuilleton writerin Paris and Vienna and London. He seems to have half a dozen languagesat his finger-tips; and there's nothing to prevent his keeping up hisnewspaper connections from here. Slanging the Jesuits won't take all histime. "

"That's true, of course. It's time to start, Cesare. Yes, I will wearthe roses. Wait just a minute. "

She ran upstairs, and came back with the roses in the bosom of herdress, and a long scarf of black Spanish lace thrown over her head. Martini surveyed her with artistic approval. 

"You look like a queen, Madonna mia; like the great and wise Queen ofSheba. "

"What an unkind speech!" she retorted, laughing; "when you know how hardI've been trying to mould myself into the image of the typical societylady! Who wants a conspirator to look like the Queen of Sheba? That'snot the way to keep clear of spies. "

"You'll never be able to personate the stupid society woman if you tryfor ever. But it doesn't matter, after all; you're too fair to look uponfor spies to guess your opinions, even though you can't simper and hidebehind your fan like Signora Grassini. "

"Now Cesare, let that poor woman alone! There, take some morebarley-sugar to sweeten your temper. Are you ready? Then we had betterstart. "

Martini had been quite right in saying that the conversazione would beboth crowded and dull. The literary men talked polite small-talk andlooked hopelessly bored, while the "nondescript crowd of tourists andRussian princes" fluttered up and down the rooms, asking each otherwho were the various celebrities and trying to carry on intellectualconversation. Grassini was receiving his guests with a manner ascarefully polished as his boots; but his cold face lighted up at thesight of Gemma. He did not really like her and indeed was secretly alittle afraid of her; but he realized that without her his drawing roomwould lack a great attraction. He had risen high in his profession, andnow that he was rich and well known his chief ambition was to make ofhis house a centre of liberal and intellectual society. He was painfullyconscious that the insignificant, overdressed little woman whom in hisyouth he had made the mistake of marrying was not fit, with her vapidtalk and faded prettiness, to be the mistress of a great literary salon. When he could prevail upon Gemma to come he always felt that the eveningwould be a success. Her quiet graciousness of manner set the guests attheir ease, and her very presence seemed to lay the spectre of vulgaritywhich always, in his imagination, haunted the house. 

Signora Grassini greeted Gemma affectionately, exclaiming in a loudwhisper: "How charming you look to-night!" and examining thewhite cashmere with viciously critical eyes. She hated her visitorrancourously, for the very things for which Martini loved her; for herquiet strength of character; for her grave, sincere directness; for thesteady balance of her mind; for the very expression of her face. And when Signora Grassini hated a woman, she showed it by effusivetenderness. Gemma took the compliments and endearments for what theywere worth, and troubled her head no more about them. What is called"going into society" was in her eyes one of the wearisome and ratherunpleasant tasks which a conspirator who wishes not to attract thenotice of spies must conscientiously fulfil. She classed it togetherwith the laborious work of writing in cipher; and, knowing how valuablea practical safeguard against suspicion is the reputation of being awell-dressed woman, studied the fashion-plates as carefully as she didthe keys of her ciphers. 

The bored and melancholy literary lions brightened up a little at thesound of Gemma's name; she was very popular among them; and the radicaljournalists, especially, gravitated at once to her end of the long room. But she was far too practised a conspirator to let them monopolize her. Radicals could be had any day; and now, when they came crowding roundher, she gently sent them about their business, reminding them with asmile that they need not waste their time on converting her when therewere so many tourists in need of instruction. For her part, she devotedherself to an English M. P. Whose sympathies the republican party wasanxious to gain; and, knowing him to be a specialist on finance, shefirst won his attention by asking his opinion on a technicalpoint concerning the Austrian currency, and then deftly turned theconversation to the condition of the Lombardo-Venetian revenue. TheEnglishman, who had expected to be bored with small-talk, looked askanceat her, evidently fearing that he had fallen into the clutches of ablue-stocking; but finding that she was both pleasant to look at andinteresting to talk to, surrendered completely and plunged into as gravea discussion of Italian finance as if she had been Metternich. WhenGrassini brought up a Frenchman "who wishes to ask Signora Bollasomething about the history of Young Italy, " the M. P. Rose witha bewildered sense that perhaps there was more ground for Italiandiscontent than he had supposed. 

Later in the evening Gemma slipped out on to the terrace under thedrawing-room windows to sit alone for a few moments among the greatcamellias and oleanders. The close air and continually shifting crowd inthe rooms were beginning to give her a headache. At the further end ofthe terrace stood a row of palms and tree-ferns, planted in large tubswhich were hidden by a bank of lilies and other flowering plants. The whole formed a complete screen, behind which was a little nookcommanding a beautiful view out across the valley. The branches of apomegranate tree, clustered with late blossoms, hung beside the narrowopening between the plants. 

In this nook Gemma took refuge, hoping that no one would guess herwhereabouts until she had secured herself against the threateningheadache by a little rest and silence. The night was warm andbeautifully still; but coming out from the hot, close rooms she felt itcool, and drew her lace scarf about her head. 

Presently the sounds of voices and footsteps approaching along theterrace roused her from the dreamy state into which she had fallen. Shedrew back into the shadow, hoping to escape notice and get a few moreprecious minutes of silence before again having to rack her tired brainfor conversation. To her great annoyance the footsteps paused near tothe screen; then Signora Grassini's thin, piping little voice broke offfor a moment in its stream of chatter. 

The other voice, a man's, was remarkably soft and musical; but itssweetness of tone was marred by a peculiar, purring drawl, perhaps mereaffectation, more probably the result of a habitual effort to conquersome impediment of speech, but in any case very unpleasant. 

"English, did you say?" it asked. "But surely the name is quite Italian. What was it--Bolla?"

"Yes; she is the widow of poor Giovanni Bolla, who died in Englandabout four years ago, --don't you remember? Ah, I forgot--you lead such awandering life; we can't expect you to know of all our unhappy country'smartyrs--they are so many!"

Signora Grassini sighed. She always talked in this style to strangers;the role of a patriotic mourner for the sorrows of Italy formed aneffective combination with her boarding-school manner and prettyinfantine pout. 

"Died in England!" repeated the other voice. "Was he a refugee, then?I seem to recognize the name, somehow; was he not connected with YoungItaly in its early days?"

"Yes; he was one of the unfortunate young men who were arrested in'33--you remember that sad affair? He was released in a few months;then, two or three years later, when there was a warrant out against himagain, he escaped to England. The next we heard was that he was marriedthere. It was a most romantic affair altogether, but poor Bolla alwayswas romantic. "

"And then he died in England, you say?"

"Yes, of consumption; he could not stand that terrible English climate. And she lost her only child just before his death; it caught scarletfever. Very sad, is it not? And we are all so fond of dear Gemma! Sheis a little stiff, poor thing; the English always are, you know; but Ithink her troubles have made her melancholy, and----"

Gemma stood up and pushed back the boughs of the pomegranate tree. Thisretailing of her private sorrows for purposes of small-talk was almostunbearable to her, and there was visible annoyance in her face as shestepped into the light. 

"Ah! here she is!" exclaimed the hostess, with admirable coolness. "Gemma, dear, I was wondering where you could have disappeared to. Signor Felice Rivarez wishes to make your acquaintance. "

"So it's the Gadfly, " thought Gemma, looking at him with some curiosity. He bowed to her decorously enough, but his eyes glanced over herface and figure with a look which seemed to her insolently keen andinquisitorial. 

"You have found a d-d-delightful little nook here, " he remarked, lookingat the thick screen; "and w-w-what a charming view!"

"Yes; it's a pretty corner. I came out here to get some air. "

"It seems almost ungrateful to the good God to stay indoors on such alovely night, " said the hostess, raising her eyes to the stars. (She hadgood eyelashes and liked to show them. ) "Look, signore! Would not oursweet Italy be heaven on earth if only she were free? To think that sheshould be a bond-slave, with such flowers and such skies!"

"And such patriotic women!" the Gadfly murmured in his soft, languiddrawl. 

Gemma glanced round at him in some trepidation; his impudence was tooglaring, surely, to deceive anyone. But she had underrated SignoraGrassini's appetite for compliments; the poor woman cast down her lasheswith a sigh. 

"Ah, signore, it is so little that a woman can do! Perhaps some day Imay prove my right to the name of an Italian--who knows? And now I mustgo back to my social duties; the French ambassador has begged me tointroduce his ward to all the notabilities; you must come in presentlyand see her. She is a most charming girl. Gemma, dear, I brought SignorRivarez out to show him our beautiful view; I must leave him under yourcare. I know you will look after him and introduce him to everyone. Ah!there is that delightful Russian prince! Have you met him? They say heis a great favourite of the Emperor Nicholas. He is military commanderof some Polish town with a name that nobody can pronounce. Quelle nuitmagnifique! N'est-ce-pas, mon prince?"

She fluttered away, chattering volubly to a bull-necked man with a heavyjaw and a coat glittering with orders; and her plaintive dirges for"notre malheureuse patrie, " interpolated with "charmant" and "monprince, " died away along the terrace. 

Gemma stood quite still beside the pomegranate tree. She was sorryfor the poor, silly little woman, and annoyed at the Gadfly's languidinsolence. He was watching the retreating figures with an expressionof face that angered her; it seemed ungenerous to mock at such pitiablecreatures. 

"There go Italian and--Russian patriotism, " he said, turning to her witha smile; "arm in arm and mightily pleased with each other's company. Which do you prefer?"

She frowned slightly and made no answer. 

"Of c-course, " he went on; "it's all a question of p-personal taste; butI think, of the two, I like the Russian variety best--it's so thorough. If Russia had to depend on flowers and skies for her supremacy insteadof on powder and shot, how long do you think 'mon prince' would k-keepthat Polish fortress?"

"I think, " she answered coldly, "that we can hold our personal opinionswithout ridiculing a woman whose guests we are. "

"Ah, yes! I f-forgot the obligations of hospitality here in Italy;they are a wonderfully hospitable people, these Italians. I'm sure theAustrians find them so. Won't you sit down?"

He limped across the terrace to fetch a chair for her, and placedhimself opposite to her, leaning against the balustrade. The light froma window was shining full on his face; and she was able to study it ather leisure. 

She was disappointed. She had expected to see a striking and powerful, if not pleasant face; but the most salient points of his appearance werea tendency to foppishness in dress and rather more than a tendency to acertain veiled insolence of expression and manner. For the rest, he wasas swarthy as a mulatto, and, notwithstanding his lameness, as agile asa cat. His whole personality was oddly suggestive of a black jaguar. The forehead and left cheek were terribly disfigured by the long crookedscar of the old sabre-cut; and she had already noticed that, when hebegan to stammer in speaking, that side of his face was affected with anervous twitch. But for these defects he would have been, in a certainrestless and uncomfortable way, rather handsome; but it was not anattractive face. 

Presently he began again in his soft, murmuring purr ("Just the voicea jaguar would talk in, if it could speak and were in a good humour, "Gemma said to herself with rising irritation). 

"I hear, " he said, "that you are interested in the radical press, andwrite for the papers. "

"I write a little; I have not time to do much. "

"Ah, of course! I understood from Signora Grassini that you undertakeother important work as well. "

Gemma raised her eyebrows slightly. Signora Grassini, like the sillylittle woman she was, had evidently been chattering imprudently to thisslippery creature, whom Gemma, for her part, was beginning actually todislike. 

"My time is a good deal taken up, " she said rather stiffly; "but SignoraGrassini overrates the importance of my occupations. They are mostly ofa very trivial character. "

"Well, the world would be in a bad way if we ALL of us spent our time inchanting dirges for Italy. I should think the neighbourhood of ourhost of this evening and his wife would make anybody frivolous, in self-defence. Oh, yes, I know what you're going to say; you areperfectly right, but they are both so deliciously funny with theirpatriotism. --Are you going in already? It is so nice out here!"

"I think I will go in now. Is that my scarf? Thank you. "

He had picked it up, and now stood looking at her with wide eyes as blueand innocent as forget-me-nots in a brook. 

"I know you are offended with me, " he said penitently, "for fooling thatpainted-up wax doll; but what can a fellow do?"

"Since you ask me, I do think it an ungenerous and--well--cowardly thingto hold one's intellectual inferiors up to ridicule in that way; it islike laughing at a cripple, or------"

He caught his breath suddenly, painfully; and shrank back, glancing athis lame foot and mutilated hand. In another instant he recovered hisself-possession and burst out laughing. 

"That's hardly a fair comparison, signora; we cripples don't flaunt ourdeformities in people's faces as she does her stupidity. At least giveus credit for recognizing that crooked backs are no pleasanter thancrooked ways. There is a step here; will you take my arm?"

She re-entered the house in embarrassed silence; his unexpectedsensitiveness had completely disconcerted her. 

Directly he opened the door of the great reception room she realizedthat something unusual had happened in her absence. Most of thegentlemen looked both angry and uncomfortable; the ladies, with hotcheeks and carefully feigned unconsciousness, were all collected at oneend of the room; the host was fingering his eye-glasses with suppressedbut unmistakable fury, and a little group of tourists stood in acorner casting amused glances at the further end of the room. Evidentlysomething was going on there which appeared to them in the light of ajoke, and to most of the guests in that of an insult. Signora Grassinialone did not appear to have noticed anything; she was fluttering herfan coquettishly and chattering to the secretary of the Dutch embassy, who listened with a broad grin on his face. 

Gemma paused an instant in the doorway, turning to see if the Gadfly, too, had noticed the disturbed appearance of the company. There was nomistaking the malicious triumph in his eyes as he glanced from the faceof the blissfully unconscious hostess to a sofa at the end of the room. She understood at once; he had brought his mistress here under somefalse colour, which had deceived no one but Signora Grassini. 

The gipsy-girl was leaning back on the sofa, surrounded by a groupof simpering dandies and blandly ironical cavalry officers. She wasgorgeously dressed in amber and scarlet, with an Oriental brilliancyof tint and profusion of ornament as startling in a Florentineliterary salon as if she had been some tropical bird among sparrows andstarlings. She herself seemed to feel out of place, and looked at theoffended ladies with a fiercely contemptuous scowl. Catching sight ofthe Gadfly as he crossed the room with Gemma, she sprang up and cametowards him, with a voluble flood of painfully incorrect French. 

"M. Rivarez, I have been looking for you everywhere! Count Saltykovwants to know whether you can go to his villa to-morrow night. Therewill be dancing. "

"I am sorry I can't go; but then I couldn't dance if I did. SignoraBolla, allow me to introduce to you Mme. Zita Reni. "

The gipsy glanced round at Gemma with a half defiant air and bowedstiffly. She was certainly handsome enough, as Martini had said, with avivid, animal, unintelligent beauty; and the perfect harmony and freedomof her movements were delightful to see; but her forehead was low andnarrow, and the line of her delicate nostrils was unsympathetic, almostcruel. The sense of oppression which Gemma had felt in the Gadfly'ssociety was intensified by the gypsy's presence; and when, a momentlater, the host came up to beg Signora Bolla to help him entertain sometourists in the other room, she consented with an odd feeling of relief. 

 *****

"Well, Madonna, and what do you think of the Gadfly?" Martini asked asthey drove back to Florence late at night. "Did you ever see anythingquite so shameless as the way he fooled that poor little Grassiniwoman?"

"About the ballet-girl, you mean?"

"Yes, he persuaded her the girl was going to be the lion of the season. Signora Grassini would do anything for a celebrity. "

"I thought it an unfair and unkind thing to do; it put the Grassinisinto a false position; and it was nothing less than cruel to the girlherself. I am sure she felt ill at ease. "

"You had a talk with him, didn't you? What did you think of him?"

"Oh, Cesare, I didn't think anything except how glad I was to seethe last of him. I never met anyone so fearfully tiring. He gave me aheadache in ten minutes. He is like an incarnate demon of unrest. "

"I thought you wouldn't like him; and, to tell the truth, no more do I. The man's as slippery as an eel; I don't trust him. "

CHAPTER III. 

THE Gadfly took lodgings outside the Roman gate, near to which Zita wasboarding. He was evidently somewhat of a sybarite; and, though nothingin the rooms showed any serious extravagance, there was a tendency toluxuriousness in trifles and to a certain fastidious daintiness in thearrangement of everything which surprised Galli and Riccardo. Theyhad expected to find a man who had lived among the wildernesses of theAmazon more simple in his tastes, and wondered at his spotless ties androws of boots, and at the masses of flowers which always stood uponhis writing table. On the whole they got on very well with him. He washospitable and friendly to everyone, especially to the local membersof the Mazzinian party. To this rule Gemma, apparently, formed anexception; he seemed to have taken a dislike to her from the time oftheir first meeting, and in every way avoided her company. On two orthree occasions he was actually rude to her, thus bringing upon himselfMartini's most cordial detestation. There had been no love lost betweenthe two men from the beginning; their temperaments appeared to be tooincompatible for them to feel anything but repugnance for each other. OnMartini's part this was fast developing into hostility. 

"I don't care about his not liking me, " he said one day to Gemma withan aggrieved air. "I don't like him, for that matter; so there's no harmdone. But I can't stand the way he behaves to you. If it weren't for thescandal it would make in the party first to beg a man to come and thento quarrel with him, I should call him to account for it. "

"Let him alone, Cesare; it isn't of any consequence, and after all, it'sas much my fault as his. "

"What is your fault?"

"That he dislikes me so. I said a brutal thing to him when we first met, that night at the Grassinis'. "

"YOU said a brutal thing? That's hard to believe, Madonna. "

"It was unintentional, of course, and I was very sorry. I said somethingabout people laughing at cripples, and he took it personally. It hadnever occurred to me to think of him as a cripple; he is not so badlydeformed. "

"Of course not. He has one shoulder higher than the other, and hisleft arm is pretty badly disabled, but he's neither hunchbacked norclubfooted. As for his lameness, it isn't worth talking about. "

"Anyway, he shivered all over and changed colour. Of course it washorribly tactless of me, but it's odd he should be so sensitive. Iwonder if he has ever suffered from any cruel jokes of that kind. "

"Much more likely to have perpetrated them, I should think. There's asort of internal brutality about that man, under all his fine manners, that is perfectly sickening to me. "

"Now, Cesare, that's downright unfair. I don't like him any more thanyou do, but what is the use of making him out worse than he is? Hismanner is a little affected and irritating--I expect he has been toomuch lionized--and the everlasting smart speeches are dreadfully tiring;but I don't believe he means any harm. "

"I don't know what he means, but there's something not clean about aman who sneers at everything. It fairly disgusted me the other day atFabrizi's debate to hear the way he cried down the reforms in Rome, justas if he wanted to find a foul motive for everything. "

Gemma sighed. "I am afraid I agreed better with him than with you onthat point, " she said. "All you good people are so full of the mostdelightful hopes and expectations; you are always ready to think thatif one well-meaning middle-aged gentleman happens to get elected Pope, everything else will come right of itself. He has only got to throw openthe prison doors and give his blessing to everybody all round, and wemay expect the millennium within three months. You never seem able tosee that he can't set things right even if he would. It's the principleof the thing that's wrong, not the behaviour of this man or that. "

"What principle? The temporal power of the Pope?"

"Why that in particular? That's merely a part of the general wrong. Thebad principle is that any man should hold over another the power to bindand loose. It's a false relationship to stand in towards one's fellows. "

Martini held up his hands. "That will do, Madonna, " he said, laughing. "I am not going to discuss with you, once you begin talking rankAntinomianism in that fashion. I'm sure your ancestors must have beenEnglish Levellers in the seventeenth century. Besides, what I came roundabout is this MS. "

He pulled it out of his pocket. 

"Another new pamphlet?"

"A stupid thing this wretched man Rivarez sent in to yesterday'scommittee. I knew we should come to loggerheads with him before long. "

"What is the matter with it? Honestly, Cesare, I think you are a littleprejudiced. Rivarez may be unpleasant, but he's not stupid. "

"Oh, I don't deny that this is clever enough in its way; but you hadbetter read the thing yourself. "

The pamphlet was a skit on the wild enthusiasm over the new Pope withwhich Italy was still ringing. Like all the Gadfly's writing, it wasbitter and vindictive; but, notwithstanding her irritation at thestyle, Gemma could not help recognizing in her heart the justice of thecriticism. 

"I quite agree with you that it is detestably malicious, " she said, laying down the manuscript. "But the worst thing about it is that it'sall true. "

"Gemma!"

"Yes, but it is. The man's a cold-blooded eel, if you like; but he'sgot the truth on his side. There is no use in our trying to persuadeourselves that this doesn't hit the mark--it does!"

"Then do you suggest that we should print it?"

"Ah! that's quite another matter. I certainly don't think we ought toprint it as it stands; it would hurt and alienate everybody and do nogood. But if he would rewrite it and cut out the personal attacks, I think it might be made into a really valuable piece of work. Aspolitical criticism it is very fine. I had no idea he could write sowell. He says things which need saying and which none of us have hadthe courage to say. This passage, where he compares Italy to a tipsyman weeping with tenderness on the neck of the thief who is picking hispocket, is splendidly written. "

"Gemma! The very worst bit in the whole thing! I hate that ill-naturedyelping at everything and everybody!"

"So do I; but that's not the point. Rivarez has a very disagreeablestyle, and as a human being he is not attractive; but when he says thatwe have made ourselves drunk with processions and embracing and shoutingabout love and reconciliation, and that the Jesuits and Sanfedists arethe people who will profit by it all, he's right a thousand times. Iwish I could have been at the committee yesterday. What decision did youfinally arrive at?"

"What I have come here about: to ask you to go and talk it over with himand persuade him to soften the thing. "

"Me? But I hardly know the man; and besides that, he detests me. Whyshould I go, of all people?"

"Simply because there's no one else to do it to-day. Besides, youare more reasonable than the rest of us, and won't get into uselessarguments and quarrel with him, as we should. "

"I shan't do that, certainly. Well, I will go if you like, though I havenot much hope of success. "

"I am sure you will be able to manage him if you try. Yes, and tell himthat the committee all admired the thing from a literary point of view. That will put him into a good humour, and it's perfectly true, too. "

 *****

The Gadfly was sitting beside a table covered with flowers and ferns, staring absently at the floor, with an open letter on his knee. A shaggycollie dog, lying on a rug at his feet, raised its head and growled asGemma knocked at the open door, and the Gadfly rose hastily and bowedin a stiff, ceremonious way. His face had suddenly grown hard andexpressionless. 

"You are too kind, " he said in his most chilling manner. "If you had letme know that you wanted to speak to me I would have called on you. "

Seeing that he evidently wished her at the end of the earth, Gemmahastened to state her business. He bowed again and placed a chair forher. 

"The committee wished me to call upon you, " she began, "because therehas been a certain difference of opinion about your pamphlet. "

"So I expected. " He smiled and sat down opposite to her, drawing a largevase of chrysanthemums between his face and the light. 

"Most of the members agreed that, however much they may admire thepamphlet as a literary composition, they do not think that in itspresent form it is quite suitable for publication. They fear that thevehemence of its tone may give offence, and alienate persons whose helpand support are valuable to the party. "

He pulled a chrysanthemum from the vase and began slowly pluckingoff one white petal after another. As her eyes happened to catch themovement of the slim right hand dropping the petals, one by one, anuncomfortable sensation came over Gemma, as though she had somewhereseen that gesture before. 

"As a literary composition, " he remarked in his soft, cold voice, "it isutterly worthless, and could be admired only by persons who know nothingabout literature. As for its giving offence, that is the very thing Iintended it to do. "

"That I quite understand. The question is whether you may not succeed ingiving offence to the wrong people. "

He shrugged his shoulders and put a torn-off petal between his teeth. "Ithink you are mistaken, " he said. "The question is: For what purposedid your committee invite me to come here? I understood, to expose andridicule the Jesuits. I fulfil my obligation to the best of my ability. "

"And I can assure you that no one has any doubt as to either the abilityor the good-will. What the committee fears is that the liberal party maytake offence, and also that the town workmen may withdraw theirmoral support. You may have meant the pamphlet for an attack upon theSanfedists: but many readers will construe it as an attack upon theChurch and the new Pope; and this, as a matter of political tactics, thecommittee does not consider desirable. "

"I begin to understand. So long as I keep to the particular set ofclerical gentlemen with whom the party is just now on bad terms, Imay speak sooth if the fancy takes me; but directly I touch upon thecommittee's own pet priests--'truth's a dog must to kennel; he must bewhipped out, when the--Holy Father may stand by the fire and-----' Yes, the fool was right; I'd rather be any kind of a thing than a fool. Ofcourse I must bow to the committee's decision, but I continue tothink that it has pared its wit o' both sides and left--M-mon-signorM-m-montan-n-nelli in the middle. "

"Montanelli?" Gemma repeated. "I don't understand you. Do you mean theBishop of Brisighella?"

"Yes; the new Pope has just created him a Cardinal, you know. I have aletter about him here. Would you care to hear it? The writer is a friendof mine on the other side of the frontier. "

"The Papal frontier?"

"Yes. This is what he writes----" He took up the letter which had beenin his hand when she entered, and read aloud, suddenly beginning tostammer violently:

"'Y-o-you will s-s-s-soon have the p-pleasure of m-m-meeting one of ourw-w-worst enemies, C-cardinal Lorenzo M-montan-n-nelli, the B-b-bishopof Brisig-g-hella. He int-t----'"

He broke off, paused a moment, and began again, very slowly and drawlinginsufferably, but no longer stammering:

"'He intends to visit Tuscany during the coming month on a mission ofreconciliation. He will preach first in Florence, where he will stay forabout three weeks; then will go on to Siena and Pisa, and return to theRomagna by Pistoja. He ostensibly belongs to the liberal party in theChurch, and is a personal friend of the Pope and Cardinal Feretti. UnderGregory he was out of favour, and was kept out of sight in a littlehole in the Apennines. Now he has come suddenly to the front. Really, of course, he is as much pulled by Jesuit wires as any Sanfedist in thecountry. This mission was suggested by some of the Jesuit fathers. He isone of the most brilliant preachers in the Church, and as mischievousin his way as Lambruschini himself. His business is to keep the popularenthusiasm over the Pope from subsiding, and to occupy the publicattention until the Grand Duke has signed a project which the agents ofthe Jesuits are preparing to lay before him. What this project is I havebeen unable to discover. ' Then, further on, it says: 'Whether Montanelliunderstands for what purpose he is being sent to Tuscany, or whetherthe Jesuits are playing on him, I cannot make out. He is either anuncommonly clever knave, or the biggest ass that was ever foaled. Theodd thing is that, so far as I can discover, he neither takes bribes norkeeps mistresses--the first time I ever came across such a thing. '"

He laid down the letter and sat looking at her with half-shut eyes, waiting, apparently, for her to speak. 

"Are you satisfied that your informant is correct in his facts?" sheasked after a moment. 

"As to the irreproachable character of Monsignor M-mon-t-tan-nelli'sprivate life? No; but neither is he. As you will observe, he puts in thes-s-saving clause: 'So far as I c-can discover----

"I was not speaking of that, " she interposed coldly, "but of the partabout this mission. "

"I can fully trust the writer. He is an old friend of mine--one of mycomrades of '43, and he is in a position which gives him exceptionalopportunities for finding out things of that kind. "

"Some official at the Vatican, " thought Gemma quickly. "So that's thekind of connections you have? I guessed there was something of thatsort. "

"This letter is, of course, a private one, " the Gadfly went on; "and youunderstand that the information is to be kept strictly to the members ofyour committee. "

"That hardly needs saying. Then about the pamphlet: may I tell thecommittee that you consent to make a few alterations and soften it alittle, or that----"

"Don't you think the alterations may succeed in spoiling the beautyof the 'literary composition, ' signora, as well as in reducing thevehemence of the tone?"

"You are asking my personal opinion. What I have come here to express isthat of the committee as a whole. "

"Does that imply that y-y-you disagree with the committee as a whole?"He had put the letter into his pocket and was now leaning forwardand looking at her with an eager, concentrated expression which quitechanged the character of his face. "You think----"

"If you care to know what I personally think--I disagree with themajority on both points. I do not at all admire the pamphlet from aliterary point of view, and I do think it true as a presentation offacts and wise as a matter of tactics. "

"That is------"

"I quite agree with you that Italy is being led away by awill-o'-the-wisp and that all this enthusiasm and rejoicing willprobably land her in a terrible bog; and I should be most heartily gladto have that openly and boldly said, even at the cost of offending oralienating some of our present supporters. But as a member of a body thelarge majority of which holds the opposite view, I cannot insist upon mypersonal opinion; and I certainly think that if things of that kind areto be said at all, they should be said temperately and quietly; not inthe tone adopted in this pamphlet. "

"Will you wait a minute while I look through the manuscript?"

He took it up and glanced down the pages. A dissatisfied frown settledon his face. 

"Yes, of course, you are perfectly right. The thing's written like acafe chantant skit, not a political satire. But what's a man to do? IfI write decently the public won't understand it; they will say it's dullif it isn't spiteful enough. "

"Don't you think spitefulness manages to be dull when we get too much ofit?"

He threw a keen, rapid glance at her, and burst out laughing. 

"Apparently the signora belongs to the dreadful category of people whoare always right! Then if I yield to the temptation to be spiteful, I may come in time to be as dull as Signora Grassini? Heavens, what afate! No, you needn't frown. I know you don't like me, and I am going tokeep to business. What it comes to, then, is practically this: if I cutout the personalities and leave the essential part of the thing asit is, the committee will very much regret that they can't take theresponsibility of printing it. If I cut out the political truth andmake all the hard names apply to no one but the party's enemies, thecommittee will praise the thing up to the skies, and you and I will knowit's not worth printing. Rather a nice point of metaphysics: Which isthe more desirable condition, to be printed and not be worth it, or tobe worth it and not be printed? Well, signora?"

"I do not think you are tied to any such alternative. I believe thatif you were to cut out the personalities the committee would consent toprint the pamphlet, though the majority would, of course, not agree withit; and I am convinced that it would be very useful. But you wouldhave to lay aside the spitefulness. If you are going to say a thing thesubstance of which is a big pill for your readers to swallow, there isno use in frightening them at the beginning by the form. "

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders resignedly. "I submit, signora; buton one condition. If you rob me of my laugh now, I must have it outnext time. When His Eminence, the irreproachable Cardinal, turns upin Florence, neither you nor your committee must object to my being asspiteful as I like. It's my due!"

He spoke in his lightest, coldest manner, pulling the chrysanthemumsout of their vase and holding them up to watch the light through thetranslucent petals. "What an unsteady hand he has, " she thought, seeinghow the flowers shook and quivered. "Surely he doesn't drink!"

"You had better discuss the matter with the other members of thecommittee, " she said, rising. "I cannot form any opinion as to what theywill think about it. "

"And you?" He had risen too, and was leaning against the table, pressingthe flowers to his face. 

She hesitated. The question distressed her, bringing up old andmiserable associations. "I--hardly know, " she said at last. "Many yearsago I used to know something about Monsignor Montanelli. He was onlya canon at that time, and Director of the theological seminary inthe province where I lived as a girl. I heard a great deal about himfrom--someone who knew him very intimately; and I never heard anythingof him that was not good. I believe that, in those days at least, hewas really a most remarkable man. But that was long ago, and he may havechanged. Irresponsible power corrupts so many people. "

The Gadfly raised his head from the flowers, and looked at her with asteady face. 

"At any rate, " he said, "if Monsignor Montanelli is not himself ascoundrel, he is a tool in scoundrelly hands. It is all one to me whichhe is--and to my friends across the frontier. A stone in the path mayhave the best intentions, but it must be kicked out of the path, for allthat. Allow me, signora!" He rang the bell, and, limping to the door, opened it for her to pass out. 

"It was very kind of you to call, signora. May I send for a vettura? No?Good-afternoon, then! Bianca, open the hall-door, please. "

Gemma went out into the street, pondering anxiously. "My friends acrossthe frontier"--who were they? And how was the stone to be kicked out ofthe path? If with satire only, why had he said it with such dangerouseyes?

CHAPTER IV. 

MONSIGNOR MONTANELLI arrived in Florence in the first week of October. His visit caused a little flutter of excitement throughout the town. Hewas a famous preacher and a representative of the reformed Papacy; andpeople looked eagerly to him for an exposition of the "new doctrine, "the gospel of love and reconciliation which was to cure the sorrows ofItaly. The nomination of Cardinal Gizzi to the Roman State Secretaryshipin place of the universally detested Lambruschini had raised the publicenthusiasm to its highest pitch; and Montanelli was just the man whocould most easily sustain it. The irreproachable strictness of his lifewas a phenomenon sufficiently rare among the high dignitaries of theRoman Church to attract the attention of people accustomed to regardblackmailing, peculation, and disreputable intrigues as almostinvariable adjuncts to the career of a prelate. Moreover, his talent asa preacher was really great; and with his beautiful voice and magneticpersonality, he would in any time and place have made his mark. 

Grassini, as usual, strained every nerve to get the newly arrivedcelebrity to his house; but Montanelli was no easy game to catch. Toall invitations he replied with the same courteous but positive refusal, saying that his health was bad and his time fully occupied, and that hehad neither strength nor leisure for going into society. 

"What omnivorous creatures those Grassinis are!" Martini saidcontemptuously to Gemma as they crossed the Signoria square one bright, cold Sunday morning. "Did you notice the way Grassini bowed when theCardinal's carriage drove up? It's all one to them who a man is, so longas he's talked about. I never saw such lion-hunters in my life. Onlylast August it was the Gadfly; now it's Montanelli. I hope His Eminencefeels flattered at the attention; a precious lot of adventurers haveshared it with him. "

They had been hearing Montanelli preach in the Cathedral; and the greatbuilding had been so thronged with eager listeners that Martini, fearinga return of Gemma's troublesome headaches, had persuaded her to comeaway before the Mass was over. The sunny morning, the first after a weekof rain, offered him an excuse for suggesting a walk among the gardenslopes by San Niccolo. 

"No, " she answered; "I should like a walk if you have time; but not tothe hills. Let us keep along the Lung'Arno; Montanelli will pass onhis way back from church and I am like Grassini--I want to see thenotability. "

"But you have just seen him. "

"Not close. There was such a crush in the Cathedral, and his back wasturned to us when the carriage passed. If we keep near to the bridgewe shall be sure to see him well--he is staying on the Lung'Arno, youknow. "

"But what has given you such a sudden fancy to see Montanelli? You neverused to care about famous preachers. "

"It is not famous preachers; it is the man himself; I want to see howmuch he has changed since I saw him last. "

"When was that?"

"Two days after Arthur's death. "

Martini glanced at her anxiously. They had come out on to the Lung'Arno, and she was staring absently across the water, with a look on her facethat he hated to see. 

"Gemma, dear, " he said after a moment; "are you going to let thatmiserable business haunt you all your life? We have all made mistakeswhen we were seventeen. "

"We have not all killed our dearest friend when we were seventeen, " sheanswered wearily; and, leaning her arm on the stone balustrade of thebridge, looked down into the river. Martini held his tongue; he wasalmost afraid to speak to her when this mood was on her. 

"I never look down at water without remembering, " she said, slowlyraising her eyes to his; then with a nervous little shiver: "Let us walkon a bit, Cesare; it is chilly for standing. "

They crossed the bridge in silence and walked on along the river-side. After a few minutes she spoke again. 

"What a beautiful voice that man has! There is something about it that Ihave never heard in any other human voice. I believe it is the secret ofhalf his influence. "

"It is a wonderful voice, " Martini assented, catching at a subject ofconversation which might lead her away from the dreadful memory calledup by the river, "and he is, apart from his voice, about the finestpreacher I have ever heard. But I believe the secret of his influencelies deeper than that. It is the way his life stands out from that ofalmost all the other prelates. I don't know whether you could lay yourhand on one other high dignitary in all the Italian Church--except thePope himself--whose reputation is so utterly spotless. I remember, whenI was in the Romagna last year, passing through his diocese and seeingthose fierce mountaineers waiting in the rain to get a glimpse of him ortouch his dress. He is venerated there almost as a saint; and that meansa good deal among the Romagnols, who generally hate everything thatwears a cassock. I remarked to one of the old peasants, --as typical asmuggler as ever I saw in my life, --that the people seemed very muchdevoted to their bishop, and he said: 'We don't love bishops, they areliars; we love Monsignor Montanelli. Nobody has ever known him to tell alie or do an unjust thing. '"

"I wonder, " Gemma said, half to herself, "if he knows the people thinkthat about him. "

"Why shouldn't he know it? Do you think it is not true?"

"I know it is not true. "

"How do you know it?"

"Because he told me so. "

"HE told you? Montanelli? Gemma, what do you mean?"

She pushed the hair back from her forehead and turned towards him. Theywere standing still again, he leaning on the balustrade and she slowlydrawing lines on the pavement with the point of her umbrella. 

"Cesare, you and I have been friends for all these years, and I havenever told you what really happened about Arthur. "

"There is no need to tell me, dear, " he broke in hastily; "I know allabout it already. "

"Giovanni told you?"

"Yes, when he was dying. He told me about it one night when I wassitting up with him. He said---- Gemma, dear, I had better tell you thetruth, now we have begun talking about it--he said that you were alwaysbrooding over that wretched story, and he begged me to be as good afriend to you as I could and try to keep you from thinking of it. And Ihave tried to, dear, though I may not have succeeded--I have, indeed. "

"I know you have, " she answered softly, raising her eyes for a moment;"I should have been badly off without your friendship. But--Giovanni didnot tell you about Monsignor Montanelli, then?"

"No, I didn't know that he had anything to do with it. What he told mewas about--all that affair with the spy, and about----"

"About my striking Arthur and his drowning himself. Well, I will tellyou about Montanelli. "

They turned back towards the bridge over which the Cardinal's carriagewould have to pass. Gemma looked out steadily across the water as shespoke. 

"In those days Montanelli was a canon; he was Director of theTheological Seminary at Pisa, and used to give Arthur lessons inphilosophy and read with him after he went up to the Sapienza. They wereperfectly devoted to each other; more like two lovers than teacher andpupil. Arthur almost worshipped the ground that Montanelli walked on, and I remember his once telling me that if he lost his 'Padre'--healways used to call Montanelli so--he should go and drown himself. Well, then you know what happened about the spy. The next day, my father andthe Burtons--Arthur's step-brothers, most detestable people--spent thewhole day dragging the Darsena basin for the body; and I sat in my roomalone and thought of what I had done----"

She paused a moment, and went on again:

"Late in the evening my father came into my room and said: 'Gemma, child, come downstairs; there's a man I want you to see. ' And when wewent down there was one of the students belonging to the group sittingin the consulting room, all white and shaking; and he told us aboutGiovanni's second letter coming from the prison to say that they hadheard from the jailer about Cardi, and that Arthur had been tricked inthe confessional. I remember the student saying to me: 'It is at leastsome consolation that we know he was innocent' My father held my handsand tried to comfort me; he did not know then about the blow. Then Iwent back to my room and sat there all night alone. In the morning myfather went out again with the Burtons to see the harbour dragged. Theyhad some hope of finding the body there. "

"It was never found, was it?"

"No; it must have got washed out to sea; but they thought there was achance. I was alone in my room and the servant came up to say that a'reverendissimo padre' had called and she had told him my father was atthe docks and he had gone away. I knew it must be Montanelli; so I ranout at the back door and caught him up at the garden gate. When I said:'Canon Montanelli, I want to speak to you, ' he just stopped and waitedsilently for me to speak. Oh, Cesare, if you had seen his face--ithaunted me for months afterwards! I said: 'I am Dr. Warren's daughter, and I have come to tell you that it is I who have killed Arthur. ' I toldhim everything, and he stood and listened, like a figure cut in stone, till I had finished; then he said: 'Set your heart at rest, my child; itis I that am a murderer, not you. I deceived him and he found it out. 'And with that he turned and went out at the gate without another word. "

"And then?"

"I don't know what happened to him after that; I heard the same eveningthat he had fallen down in the street in a kind of fit and had beencarried into a house near the docks; but that is all I know. My fatherdid everything he could for me; when I told him about it he threw uphis practice and took me away to England at once, so that I should neverhear anything that could remind me. He was afraid I should end in thewater, too; and indeed I believe I was near it at one time. But then, you know, when we found out that my father had cancer I was obliged tocome to myself--there was no one else to nurse him. And after he diedI was left with the little ones on my hands until my elder brother wasable to give them a home. Then there was Giovanni. Do you know, whenhe came to England we were almost afraid to meet each other with thatfrightful memory between us. He was so bitterly remorseful for his sharein it all--that unhappy letter he wrote from prison. But I believe, really, it was our common trouble that drew us together. "

Martini smiled and shook his head. 

"It may have been so on your side, " he said; "but Giovanni had made uphis mind from the first time he ever saw you. I remember his coming backto Milan after that first visit to Leghorn and raving about you to metill I was perfectly sick of hearing of the English Gemma. I thought Ishould hate you. Ah! there it comes!"

The carriage crossed the bridge and drove up to a large house on theLung'Arno. Montanelli was leaning back on the cushions as if too tiredto care any longer for the enthusiastic crowd which had collected roundthe door to catch a glimpse of him. The inspired look that his face hadworn in the Cathedral had faded quite away and the sunlight showed thelines of care and fatigue. When he had alighted and passed, with theheavy, spiritless tread of weary and heart-sick old age, into the house, Gemma turned away and walked slowly to the bridge. Her face seemed fora moment to reflect the withered, hopeless look of his. Martini walkedbeside her in silence. 

"I have so often wondered, " she began again after a little pause; "whathe meant about the deception. It has sometimes occurred to me----"

"Yes?"

"Well, it is very strange; there was the most extraordinary personalresemblance between them. "

"Between whom?"

"Arthur and Montanelli. It was not only I who noticed it. And there wassomething mysterious in the relationship between the members of thathousehold. Mrs. Burton, Arthur's mother, was one of the sweetest womenI ever knew. Her face had the same spiritual look as Arthur's, and Ibelieve they were alike in character, too. But she always seemed halffrightened, like a detected criminal; and her step-son's wife used totreat her as no decent person treats a dog. And then Arthur himself wassuch a startling contrast to all those vulgar Burtons. Of course, whenone is a child one takes everything for granted; but looking back on itafterwards I have often wondered whether Arthur was really a Burton. "

"Possibly he found out something about his mother--that may easilyhave been the cause of his death, not the Cardi affair at all, " Martiniinterposed, offering the only consolation he could think of at themoment. Gemma shook her head. 

"If you could have seen his face after I struck him, Cesare, you wouldnot think that. It may be all true about Montanelli--very likely itis--but what I have done I have done. "

They walked on a little way without speaking. 

"My dear, " Martini said at last; "if there were any way on earth to undoa thing that is once done, it would be worth while to brood over our oldmistakes; but as it is, let the dead bury their dead. It is a terriblestory, but at least the poor lad is out of it now, and luckier than someof those that are left--the ones that are in exile and in prison. Youand I have them to think of, we have no right to eat out our hearts forthe dead. Remember what your own Shelley says: 'The past is Death's, the future is thine own. ' Take it, while it is still yours, and fix yourmind, not on what you may have done long ago to hurt, but on what youcan do now to help. "

In his earnestness he had taken her hand. He dropped it suddenly anddrew back at the sound of a soft, cold, drawling voice behind him. 

"Monsignor Montan-n-nelli, " murmured this languid voice, "is undoubtedlyall you say, my dear doctor. In fact, he appears to be so much too goodfor this world that he ought to be politely escorted into the next. Iam sure he would cause as great a sensation there as he has done here;there are p-p-probably many old-established ghosts who have never seensuch a thing as an honest cardinal. And there is nothing that ghostslove as they do novelties----"

"How do you know that?" asked Dr. Riccardo's voice in a tone ofill-suppressed irritation. 

"From Holy Writ, my dear sir. If the Gospel is to be trusted, even themost respectable of all Ghosts had a f-f-fancy for capricious alliances. Now, honesty and c-c-cardinals--that seems to me a somewhat capriciousalliance, and rather an uncomfortable one, like shrimps and liquorice. Ah, Signor Martini, and Signora Bolla! Lovely weather after the rain, isit not? Have you been to hear the n-new Savonarola, too?"

Martini turned round sharply. The Gadfly, with a cigar in his mouth anda hot-house flower in his buttonhole, was holding out to him a slender, carefully-gloved hand. With the sunlight reflected in his immaculateboots and glancing back from the water on to his smiling face, he lookedto Martini less lame and more conceited than usual. They were shakinghands, affably on the one side and rather sulkily on the other, whenRiccardo hastily exclaimed:

"I am afraid Signora Bolla is not well!"

She was so pale that her face looked almost livid under the shadow ofher bonnet, and the ribbon at her throat fluttered perceptibly from theviolent beating of the heart. 

"I will go home, " she said faintly. 

A cab was called and Martini got in with her to see her safely home. Asthe Gadfly bent down to arrange her cloak, which was hanging over thewheel, he raised his eyes suddenly to her face, and Martini saw that sheshrank away with a look of something like terror. 

"Gemma, what is the matter with you?" he asked, in English, when theyhad started. "What did that scoundrel say to you?"

"Nothing, Cesare; it was no fault of his. I--I--had a fright----"

"A fright?"

"Yes; I fancied----" She put one hand over her eyes, and he waitedsilently till she should recover her self-command. Her face was alreadyregaining its natural colour. 

"You are quite right, " she said at last, turning to him and speaking inher usual voice; "it is worse than useless to look back at a horriblepast. It plays tricks with one's nerves and makes one imagine all sortsof impossible things. We will NEVER talk about that subject again, Cesare, or I shall see fantastic likenesses to Arthur in every face Imeet. It is a kind of hallucination, like a nightmare in broad daylight. Just now, when that odious little fop came up, I fancied it was Arthur. "

CHAPTER V. 

THE Gadfly certainly knew how to make personal enemies. He had arrivedin Florence in August, and by the end of October three-fourths of thecommittee which had invited him shared Martini's opinion. His savageattacks upon Montanelli had annoyed even his admirers; and Gallihimself, who at first had been inclined to uphold everything the wittysatirist said or did, began to acknowledge with an aggrieved air thatMontanelli had better have been left in peace. "Decent cardinals arenone so plenty. One might treat them politely when they do turn up. "

The only person who, apparently, remained quite indifferent to the stormof caricatures and pasquinades was Montanelli himself. It seemed, asMartini said, hardly worth while to expend one's energy in ridiculinga man who took it so good-humouredly. It was said in the town thatMontanelli, one day when the Archbishop of Florence was dining withhim, had found in the room one of the Gadfly's bitter personal lampoonsagainst himself, had read it through and handed the paper to theArchbishop, remarking: "That is rather cleverly put, is it not?"

One day there appeared in the town a leaflet, headed: "The Mysteryof the Annunciation. " Even had the author omitted his now familiarsignature, a sketch of a gadfly with spread wings, the bitter, trenchantstyle would have left in the minds of most readers no doubt as to hisidentity. The skit was in the form of a dialogue between Tuscany asthe Virgin Mary, and Montanelli as the angel who, bearing the lilies ofpurity and crowned with the olive branch of peace, was announcing theadvent of the Jesuits. The whole thing was full of offensive personalallusions and hints of the most risky nature, and all Florence felt thesatire to be both ungenerous and unfair. And yet all Florence laughed. There was something so irresistible in the Gadfly's grave absurditiesthat those who most disapproved of and disliked him laughed asimmoderately at all his squibs as did his warmest partisans. Repulsivein tone as the leaflet was, it left its trace upon the popular feelingof the town. Montanelli's personal reputation stood too high for anylampoon, however witty, seriously to injure it, but for a moment thetide almost turned against him. The Gadfly had known where to sting;and, though eager crowds still collected before the Cardinal's houseto see him enter or leave his carriage, ominous cries of "Jesuit!" and"Sanfedist spy!" often mingled with the cheers and benedictions. 

But Montanelli had no lack of supporters. Two days after the publicationof the skit, the Churchman, a leading clerical paper, brought outa brilliant article, called: "An Answer to 'The Mystery of theAnnunciation, '" and signed: "A Son of the Church. " It was an impassioneddefence of Montanelli against the Gadfly's slanderous imputations. Theanonymous writer, after expounding, with great eloquence and fervour, the doctrine of peace on earth and good will towards men, of which thenew Pontiff was the evangelist, concluded by challenging the Gadflyto prove a single one of his assertions, and solemnly appealing to thepublic not to believe a contemptible slanderer. Both the cogency ofthe article as a bit of special pleading and its merit as a literarycomposition were sufficiently far above the average to attract muchattention in the town, especially as not even the editor of thenewspaper could guess the author's identity. The article was soonreprinted separately in pamphlet form; and the "anonymous defender" wasdiscussed in every coffee-shop in Florence. 

The Gadfly responded with a violent attack on the new Pontificate andall its supporters, especially on Montanelli, who, he cautiouslyhinted, had probably consented to the panegyric on himself. To thisthe anonymous defender again replied in the Churchman with an indignantdenial. During the rest of Montanelli's stay the controversy ragingbetween the two writers occupied more of the public attention than dideven the famous preacher himself. 

Some members of the liberal party ventured to remonstrate with theGadfly about the unnecessary malice of his tone towards Montanelli; butthey did not get much satisfaction out of him. He only smiled affablyand answered with a languid little stammer: "R-really, gentlemen, youare rather unfair. I expressly stipulated, when I gave in to SignoraBolla, that I should be allowed a l-l-little chuckle all to myself now. It is so nominated in the bond!"

At the end of October Montanelli returned to his see in the Romagna, and, before leaving Florence, preached a farewell sermon in which hespoke of the controversy, gently deprecating the vehemence of bothwriters and begging his unknown defender to set an example of toleranceby closing a useless and unseemly war of words. On the following day theChurchman contained a notice that, at Monsignor Montanelli's publiclyexpressed desire, "A Son of the Church" would withdraw from thecontroversy. 

The last word remained with the Gadfly. He issued a little leaflet, in which he declared himself disarmed and converted by Montanelli'sChristian meekness and ready to weep tears of reconciliation upon theneck of the first Sanfedist he met. "I am even willing, " he concluded;"to embrace my anonymous challenger himself; and if my readers knew, ashis Eminence and I know, what that implies and why he remains anonymous, they would believe in the sincerity of my conversion. "

In the latter part of November he announced to the literary committeethat he was going for a fortnight's holiday to the seaside. He went, apparently, to Leghorn; but Dr. Riccardo, going there soon after andwishing to speak to him, searched the town for him in vain. On the 5thof December a political demonstration of the most extreme characterburst out in the States of the Church, along the whole chain of theApennines; and people began to guess the reason of the Gadfly's suddenfancy to take his holidays in the depth of winter. He came back toFlorence when the riots had been quelled, and, meeting Riccardo in thestreet, remarked affably:

"I hear you were inquiring for me in Leghorn; I was staying in Pisa. What a pretty old town it is! There's something quite Arcadian aboutit. "

In Christmas week he attended an afternoon meeting of the literarycommittee which was held in Dr. Riccardo's lodgings near the Porta allaCroce. The meeting was a full one, and when he came in, a little late, with an apologetic bow and smile, there seemed to be no seat empty. Riccardo rose to fetch a chair from the next room, but the Gadflystopped him. "Don't trouble about it, " he said; "I shall be quitecomfortable here"; and crossing the room to a window beside whichGemma had placed her chair, he sat down on the sill, leaning his headindolently back against the shutter. 

As he looked down at Gemma, smiling with half-shut eyes, in the subtle, sphinx-like way that gave him the look of a Leonardo da Vinci portrait, the instinctive distrust with which he inspired her deepened into asense of unreasoning fear. 

The proposal under discussion was that a pamphlet be issued settingforth the committee's views on the dearth with which Tuscany wasthreatened and the measures which should be taken to meet it. Thematter was a somewhat difficult one to decide, because, as usual, thecommittee's views upon the subject were much divided. The more advancedsection, to which Gemma, Martini, and Riccardo belonged, was in favourof an energetic appeal to both government and public to take adequatemeasures at once for the relief of the peasantry. The moderatedivision--including, of course, Grassini--feared that an over-emphatictone might irritate rather than convince the ministry. 

"It is all very well, gentlemen, to want the people helped at once, " hesaid, looking round upon the red-hot radicals with his calm and pityingair. "We most of us want a good many things that we are not likely toget; but if we start with the tone you propose to adopt, the governmentis very likely not to begin any relief measures at all till there isactual famine. If we could only induce the ministry to make an inquiryinto the state of the crops it would be a step in advance. "

Galli, in his corner by the stove, jumped up to answer his enemy. 

"A step in advance--yes, my dear sir; but if there's going to be afamine, it won't wait for us to advance at that pace. The people mightall starve before we got to any actual relief. "

"It would be interesting to know----" Sacconi began; but several voicesinterrupted him. 

"Speak up; we can't hear!"

"I should think not, with such an infernal row in the street, " saidGalli, irritably. "Is that window shut, Riccardo? One can't hear one'sself speak!"

Gemma looked round. "Yes, " she said, "the window is quite shut. I thinkthere is a variety show, or some such thing, passing. "

The sounds of shouting and laughter, of the tinkling of bells andtrampling of feet, resounded from the street below, mixed with thebraying of a villainous brass band and the unmerciful banging of a drum. 

"It can't be helped these few days, " said Riccardo; "we must expectnoise at Christmas time. What were you saying, Sacconi?"

"I said it would be interesting to hear what is thought about the matterin Pisa and Leghorn. Perhaps Signor Rivarez can tell us something; hehas just come from there. "

The Gadfly did not answer. He was staring out of the window and appearednot to have heard what had been said. 

"Signor Rivarez!" said Gemma. She was the only person sitting near tohim, and as he remained silent she bent forward and touched him on thearm. He slowly turned his face to her, and she started as she saw itsfixed and awful immobility. For a moment it was like the face of acorpse; then the lips moved in a strange, lifeless way. 

"Yes, " he whispered; "a variety show. "

Her first instinct was to shield him from the curiosity of the others. Without understanding what was the matter with him, she realized thatsome frightful fancy or hallucination had seized upon him, and that, forthe moment, he was at its mercy, body and soul. She rose quickly and, standing between him and the company, threw the window open as if tolook out. No one but herself had seen his face. 

In the street a travelling circus was passing, with mountebanks ondonkeys and harlequins in parti-coloured dresses. The crowd of holidaymasqueraders, laughing and shoving, was exchanging jests and showers ofpaper ribbon with the clowns and flinging little bags of sugar-plums tothe columbine, who sat in her car, tricked out in tinsel and feathers, with artificial curls on her forehead and an artificial smile on herpainted lips. Behind the car came a motley string of figures--streetArabs, beggars, clowns turning somersaults, and costermongers hawkingtheir wares. They were jostling, pelting, and applauding a figure whichat first Gemma could not see for the pushing and swaying of the crowd. The next moment, however, she saw plainly what it was--a hunchback, dwarfish and ugly, grotesquely attired in a fool's dress, with papercap and bells. He evidently belonged to the strolling company, and wasamusing the crowd with hideous grimaces and contortions. 

"What is going on out there?" asked Riccardo, approaching the window. "You seem very much interested. "

He was a little surprised at their keeping the whole committee waitingto look at a strolling company of mountebanks. Gemma turned round. 

"It is nothing interesting, " she said; "only a variety show; but theymade such a noise that I thought it must be something else. "

She was standing with one hand upon the window-sill, and suddenly feltthe Gadfly's cold fingers press the hand with a passionate clasp. "Thankyou!" he whispered softly; and then, closing the window, sat down againupon the sill. 

"I'm afraid, " he said in his airy manner, "that I have interrupted you, gentlemen. I was l-looking at the variety show; it is s-such a p-prettysight. "

"Sacconi was asking you a question, " said Martini gruffly. The Gadfly'sbehaviour seemed to him an absurd piece of affectation, and he wasannoyed that Gemma should have been tactless enough to follow hisexample. It was not like her. 

The Gadfly disclaimed all knowledge of the state of feeling in Pisa, explaining that he had been there "only on a holiday. " He then plungedat once into an animated discussion, first of agricultural prospects, then of the pamphlet question; and continued pouring out a flood ofstammering talk till the others were quite tired. He seemed to find somefeverish delight in the sound of his own voice. 

When the meeting ended and the members of the committee rose to go, Riccardo came up to Martini. 

"Will you stop to dinner with me? Fabrizi and Sacconi have promised tostay. "

"Thanks; but I was going to see Signora Bolla home. "

"Are you really afraid I can't get home by myself?" she asked, risingand putting on her wrap. "Of course he will stay with you, Dr. Riccardo;it's good for him to get a change. He doesn't go out half enough. "

"If you will allow me, I will see you home, " the Gadfly interposed; "Iam going in that direction. "

"If you really are going that way----"

"I suppose you won't have time to drop in here in the course of theevening, will you, Rivarez?" asked Riccardo, as he opened the door forthem. 

The Gadfly looked back over his shoulder, laughing. "I, my dear fellow?I'm going to see the variety show!"

"What a strange creature that is; and what an odd affection formountebanks!" said Riccardo, coming back to his visitors. 

"Case of a fellow-feeling, I should think, " said Martini; "the man's amountebank himself, if ever I saw one. "

"I wish I could think he was only that, " Fabrizi interposed, with agrave face. "If he is a mountebank I am afraid he's a very dangerousone. "

"Dangerous in what way?"

"Well, I don't like those mysterious little pleasure trips that he is sofond of taking. This is the third time, you know; and I don't believe hehas been in Pisa at all. "

"I suppose it is almost an open secret that it's into the mountains hegoes, " said Sacconi. "He has hardly taken the trouble to deny that heis still in relations with the smugglers he got to know in the Savignoaffair, and it's quite natural he should take advantage of theirfriendship to get his leaflets across the Papal frontier. "

"For my part, " said Riccardo; "what I wanted to talk to you about isthis very question. It occurred to me that we could hardly do betterthan ask Rivarez to undertake the management of our own smuggling. Thatpress at Pistoja is very inefficiently managed, to my thinking; and theway the leaflets are taken across, always rolled in those everlastingcigars, is more than primitive. "

"It has answered pretty well up till now, " said Martini contumaciously. He was getting wearied of hearing Galli and Riccardo always put theGadfly forward as a model to copy, and inclined to think that the worldhad gone well enough before this "lackadaisical buccaneer" turned up toset everyone to rights. 

"It has answered so far well that we have been satisfied with it forwant of anything better; but you know there have been plenty of arrestsand confiscations. Now I believe that if Rivarez undertook the businessfor us, there would be less of that. "

"Why do you think so?"

"In the first place, the smugglers look upon us as strangers to dobusiness with, or as sheep to fleece, whereas Rivarez is their personalfriend, very likely their leader, whom they look up to and trust. Youmay be sure every smuggler in the Apennines will do for a man who wasin the Savigno revolt what he will not do for us. In the next place, there's hardly a man among us that knows the mountains as Rivarez does. Remember, he has been a fugitive among them, and knows the smugglers'paths by heart. No smuggler would dare to cheat him, even if he wishedto, and no smuggler could cheat him if he dared to try. "

"Then is your proposal that we should ask him to take over thewhole management of our literature on the other side of thefrontier--distribution, addresses, hiding-places, everything--or simplythat we should ask him to put the things across for us?"

"Well, as for addresses and hiding-places, he probably knows alreadyall the ones that we have and a good many more that we have not. Idon't suppose we should be able to teach him much in that line. Asfor distribution, it's as the others prefer, of course. The importantquestion, to my mind, is the actual smuggling itself. Once the books aresafe in Bologna, it's a comparatively simple matter to circulate them. "

"For my part, " said Martini, "I am against the plan. In the first place, all this about his skilfulness is mere conjecture; we have not actuallyseen him engaged in frontier work and do not know whether he keeps hishead in critical moments. "

"Oh, you needn't have any doubt of that!" Riccardo put in. "The historyof the Savigno affair proves that he keeps his head. "

"And then, " Martini went on; "I do not feel at all inclined, from whatlittle I know of Rivarez, to intrust him with all the party's secrets. He seems to me feather-brained and theatrical. To give the wholemanagement of a party's contraband work into a man's hands is a seriousmatter. Fabrizi, what do you think?"

"If I had only such objections as yours, Martini, " replied theprofessor, "I should certainly waive them in the case of a man reallypossessing, as Rivarez undoubtedly does, all the qualifications Riccardospeaks of. For my part, I have not the slightest doubt as to either hiscourage, his honesty, or his presence of mind; and that he knows bothmountains and mountaineers we have had ample proof. But there is anotherobjection. I do not feel sure that it is only for the smuggling ofpamphlets he goes into the mountains. I have begun to doubt whether hehas not another purpose. This is, of course, entirely between ourselves. It is a mere suspicion. It seems to me just possible that he is inconnexion with some one of the 'sects, ' and perhaps with the mostdangerous of them. "

"Which one do you mean--the 'Red Girdles'?"

"No; the 'Occoltellatori. '"

"The 'Knifers'! But that is a little body of outlaws--peasants, most ofthem, with neither education nor political experience. "

"So were the insurgents of Savigno; but they had a few educated men asleaders, and this little society may have the same. And remember, it'spretty well known that most of the members of those more violent sectsin the Romagna are survivors of the Savigno affair, who found themselvestoo weak to fight the Churchmen in open insurrection, and so have fallenback on assassination. Their hands are not strong enough for guns, andthey take to knives instead. "

"But what makes you suppose Rivarez to be connected with them?"

"I don't suppose, I merely suspect. In any case, I think we had betterfind out for certain before we intrust our smuggling to him. If heattempted to do both kinds of work at once he would injure our partymost terribly; he would simply destroy its reputation and accomplishnothing. However, we will talk of that another time. I wanted to speakto you about the news from Rome. It is said that a commission is to beappointed to draw up a project for a municipal constitution. "

CHAPTER VI. 

GEMMA and the Gadfly walked silently along the Lung'Arno. His feverishtalkativeness seemed to have quite spent itself; he had hardly spoken aword since they left Riccardo's door, and Gemma was heartily glad of hissilence. She always felt embarrassed in his company, and to-day moreso than usual, for his strange behaviour at the committee meeting hadgreatly perplexed her. 

By the Uffizi palace he suddenly stopped and turned to her. 

"Are you tired?"

"No; why?"

"Nor especially busy this evening?"

"No. "

"I want to ask a favour of you; I want you to come for a walk with me. "

"Where to?"

"Nowhere in particular; anywhere you like. "

"But what for?"

He hesitated. 

"I--can't tell you--at least, it's very difficult; but please come ifyou can. "

He raised his eyes suddenly from the ground, and she saw how strangetheir expression was. 

"There is something the matter with you, " she said gently. He pulled aleaf from the flower in his button-hole, and began tearing it to pieces. Who was it that he was so oddly like? Someone who had that same trick ofthe fingers and hurried, nervous gesture. 

"I am in trouble, " he said, looking down at his hands and speaking in ahardly audible voice. "I--don't want to be alone this evening. Will youcome?"

"Yes, certainly, unless you would rather go to my lodgings. "

"No; come and dine with me at a restaurant. There's one on the Signoria. Please don't refuse, now; you've promised!"

They went into a restaurant, where he ordered dinner, but hardly touchedhis own share, and remained obstinately silent, crumbling the bread overthe cloth, and fidgeting with the fringe of his table napkin. Gemma feltthoroughly uncomfortable, and began to wish she had refused to come; thesilence was growing awkward; yet she could not begin to make small-talkwith a person who seemed to have forgotten her presence. At last helooked up and said abruptly:

"Would you like to see the variety show?"

She stared at him in astonishment. What had he got into his head aboutvariety shows?

"Have you ever seen one?" he asked before she had time to speak. 

"No; I don't think so. I didn't suppose they were interesting. "

"They are very interesting. I don't think anyone can study the life ofthe people without seeing them. Let us go back to the Porta alla Croce. "

When they arrived the mountebanks had set up their tent beside thetown gate, and an abominable scraping of fiddles and banging of drumsannounced that the performance had begun. 

The entertainment was of the roughest kind. A few clowns, harlequins, and acrobats, a circus-rider jumping through hoops, the paintedcolumbine, and the hunchback performing various dull and foolish antics, represented the entire force of the company. The jokes were not, on thewhole, coarse or offensive; but they were very tame and stale, and therewas a depressing flatness about the whole thing. The audience laughedand clapped from their innate Tuscan courtesy; but the only part whichthey seemed really to enjoy was the performance of the hunchback, inwhich Gemma could find nothing either witty or skilful. It was merelya series of grotesque and hideous contortions, which the spectatorsmimicked, holding up children on their shoulders that the little onesmight see the "ugly man. "

"Signor Rivarez, do you really think this attractive?" said Gemma, turning to the Gadfly, who was standing beside her, his arm round one ofthe wooden posts of the tent. "It seems to me----"

She broke off and remained looking at him silently. Except when she hadstood with Montanelli at the garden gate in Leghorn, she had never seena human face express such fathomless, hopeless misery. She thought ofDante's hell as she watched him. 

Presently the hunchback, receiving a kick from one of the clowns, turned a somersault and tumbled in a grotesque heap outside the ring. Adialogue between two clowns began, and the Gadfly seemed to wake out ofa dream. 

"Shall we go?" he asked; "or would you like to see more?"

"I would rather go. "

They left the tent, and walked across the dark green to the river. For afew moments neither spoke. 

"What did you think of the show?" the Gadfly asked presently. 

"I thought it rather a dreary business; and part of it seemed to mepositively unpleasant. "

"Which part?"

"Well, all those grimaces and contortions. They are simply ugly; thereis nothing clever about them. "

"Do you mean the hunchback's performance?"

Remembering his peculiar sensitiveness on the subject of his ownphysical defects, she had avoided mentioning this particular bit of theentertainment; but now that he had touched upon the subject himself, sheanswered: "Yes; I did not like that part at all. "

"That was the part the people enjoyed most. "

"I dare say; and that is just the worst thing about it. "

"Because it was inartistic?"

"N-no; it was all inartistic. I meant--because it was cruel. "

He smiled. 

"Cruel? Do you mean to the hunchback?"

"I mean---- Of course the man himself was quite indifferent; no doubt, it is to him just a way of getting a living, like the circus-rider'sway or the columbine's. But the thing makes one feel unhappy. It ishumiliating; it is the degradation of a human being. "

"He probably is not any more degraded than he was to start with. Most ofus are degraded in one way or another. "

"Yes; but this--I dare say you will think it an absurd prejudice; buta human body, to me, is a sacred thing; I don't like to see it treatedirreverently and made hideous. "

"And a human soul?"

He had stopped short, and was standing with one hand on the stonebalustrade of the embankment, looking straight at her. 

"A soul?" she repeated, stopping in her turn to look at him in wonder. 

He flung out both hands with a sudden, passionate gesture. 

"Has it never occurred to you that that miserable clown may have asoul--a living, struggling, human soul, tied down into that crooked hulkof a body and forced to slave for it? You that are so tender-hearted toeverything--you that pity the body in its fool's dress and bells--haveyou never thought of the wretched soul that has not even motley to coverits horrible nakedness? Think of it shivering with cold, stilled withshame and misery, before all those people--feeling their jeers that cutlike a whip--their laughter, that burns like red-hot iron on the bareflesh! Think of it looking round--so helpless before them all--for themountains that will not fall on it--for the rocks that have not theheart to cover it--envying the rats that can creep into some hole in theearth and hide; and remember that a soul is dumb--it has no voice to cryout--it must endure, and endure, and endure. Oh! I'm talking nonsense!Why on earth don't you laugh? You have no sense of humour!"

Slowly and in dead silence she turned and walked on along the riverside. During the whole evening it had not once occurred to her toconnect his trouble, whatever it might be, with the variety show; andnow that some dim picture of his inner life had been revealed to her bythis sudden outburst, she could not find, in her overwhelming pity forhim, one word to say. He walked on beside her, with his head turnedaway, and looked into the water. 

"I want you, please, to understand, " he began suddenly, turning to herwith a defiant air, "that everything I have just been saying to you ispure imagination. I'm rather given to romancing, but I don't like peopleto take it seriously. "

She made no answer, and they walked on in silence. As they passed by thegateway of the Uffizi, he crossed the road and stooped down over a darkbundle that was lying against the railings. 

"What is the matter, little one?" he asked, more gently than she hadever heard him speak. "Why don't you go home?"

The bundle moved, and answered something in a low, moaning voice. Gemmacame across to look, and saw a child of about six years old, ragged anddirty, crouching on the pavement like a frightened animal. The Gadflywas bending down with his hand on the unkempt head. 

"What is it?" he said, stooping lower to catch the unintelligibleanswer. "You ought to go home to bed; little boys have no business outof doors at night; you'll be quite frozen! Give me your hand and jump uplike a man! Where do you live?"

He took the child's arm to raise him. The result was a sharp scream anda quick shrinking away. 

"Why, what is it?" the Gadfly asked, kneeling down on the pavement. "Ah!Signora, look here!"

The child's shoulder and jacket were covered with blood. 

"Tell me what has happened?" the Gadfly went on caressingly. "It wasn'ta fall, was it? No? Someone's been beating you? I thought so! Who wasit?"

"My uncle. "

"Ah, yes! And when was it?"

"This morning. He was drunk, and I--I----"

"And you got in his way--was that it? You shouldn't get in people's waywhen they are drunk, little man; they don't like it. What shall we dowith this poor mite, signora? Come here to the light, sonny, and letme look at that shoulder. Put your arm round my neck; I won't hurt you. There we are!"

He lifted the boy in his arms, and, carrying him across the street, sethim down on the wide stone balustrade. Then, taking out a pocket-knife, he deftly ripped up the torn sleeve, supporting the child's head againsthis breast, while Gemma held the injured arm. The shoulder was badlybruised and grazed, and there was a deep gash on the arm. 

"That's an ugly cut to give a mite like you, " said the Gadfly, fasteninghis handkerchief round the wound to prevent the jacket from rubbingagainst it. "What did he do it with?"

"The shovel. I went to ask him to give me a soldo to get some polenta atthe corner shop, and he hit me with the shovel. "

The Gadfly shuddered. "Ah!" he said softly, "that hurts; doesn't it, little one?"

"He hit me with the shovel--and I ran away--I ran away--because he hitme. "

"And you've been wandering about ever since, without any dinner?"

Instead of answering, the child began to sob violently. The Gadflylifted him off the balustrade. 

"There, there! We'll soon set all that straight. I wonder if we canget a cab anywhere. I'm afraid they'll all be waiting by the theatre;there's a grand performance going on to-night. I am sorry to drag youabout so, signora; but----"

"I would rather come with you. You may want help. Do you think you cancarry him so far? Isn't he very heavy?"

"Oh, I can manage, thank you. "

At the theatre door they found only a few cabs waiting, and these wereall engaged. The performance was over, and most of the audience hadgone. Zita's name was printed in large letters on the wall-placards; shehad been dancing in the ballet. Asking Gemma to wait for him a moment, the Gadfly went round to the performers' entrance, and spoke to anattendant. 

"Has Mme. Reni gone yet?"

"No, sir, " the man answered, staring blankly at the spectacle of awell-dressed gentleman carrying a ragged street child in his arms, "Mme. Reni is just coming out, I think; her carriage is waiting for her. Yes;there she comes. "

Zita descended the stairs, leaning on the arm of a young cavalryofficer. She looked superbly handsome, with an opera cloak offlame-coloured velvet thrown over her evening dress, and a great fan ofostrich plumes hanging from her waist. In the entry she stopped short, and, drawing her hand away from the officer's arm, approached the Gadflyin amazement. 

"Felice!" she exclaimed under her breath, "what HAVE you got there?"

"I have picked up this child in the street. It is hurt and starving; andI want to get it home as quickly as possible. There is not a cab to begot anywhere, so I want to have your carriage. "

"Felice! you are not going to take a horrid beggar-child into yourrooms! Send for a policeman, and let him carry it to the Refuge orwhatever is the proper place for it. You can't have all the paupers inthe town----"

"It is hurt, " the Gadfly repeated; "it can go to the Refuge to-morrow, if necessary, but I must see to the child first and give it some food. "

Zita made a little grimace of disgust. "You've got its head rightagainst your shirt! How CAN you? It is dirty!"

The Gadfly looked up with a sudden flash of anger. 

"It is hungry, " he said fiercely. "You don't know what that means, doyou?"

"Signer Rivarez, " interposed Gemma, coming forward, "my lodgings arequite close. Let us take the child in there. Then, if you cannot find avettura, I will manage to put it up for the night. "

He turned round quickly. "You don't mind?"

"Of course not. Good-night, Mme. Reni!"

The gipsy, with a stiff bow and an angry shrug of her shoulders, tookher officer's arm again, and, gathering up the train of her dress, sweptpast them to the contested carriage. 

"I will send it back to fetch you and the child, if you like, M. Rivarez, " she said, pausing on the doorstep. 

"Very well; I will give the address. " He came out on to the pavement, gave the address to the driver, and walked back to Gemma with hisburden. 

Katie was waiting up for her mistress; and, on hearing what hadhappened, ran for warm water and other necessaries. Placing the child ona chair, the Gadfly knelt down beside him, and, deftly slipping offthe ragged clothing, bathed and bandaged the wound with tender, skilfulhands. He had just finished washing the boy, and was wrapping him in awarm blanket, when Gemma came in with a tray in her hands. 

"Is your patient ready for his supper?" she asked, smiling at thestrange little figure. "I have been cooking it for him. "

The Gadfly stood up and rolled the dirty rags together. "I'm afraid wehave made a terrible mess in your room, " he said. "As for these, theyhad better go straight into the fire, and I will buy him some newclothes to-morrow. Have you any brandy in the house, signora? I thinkhe ought to have a little. I will just wash my hands, if you will allowme. "

When the child had finished his supper, he immediately went to sleep inthe Gadfly's arms, with his rough head against the white shirt-front. Gemma, who had been helping Katie to set the disordered room tidy again, sat down at the table. 

"Signor Rivarez, you must take something before you go home--you hadhardly any dinner, and it's very late. "

"I should like a cup of tea in the English fashion, if you have it. I'msorry to keep you up so late. "

"Oh! that doesn't matter. Put the child down on the sofa; he will tireyou. Wait a minute; I will just lay a sheet over the cushions. What areyou going to do with him?"

"To-morrow? Find out whether he has any other relations except thatdrunken brute; and if not, I suppose I must follow Mme. Reni's advice, and take him to the Refuge. Perhaps the kindest thing to do would be toput a stone round his neck and pitch him into the river there; but thatwould expose me to unpleasant consequences. Fast asleep! What an oddlittle lump of ill-luck you are, you mite--not half as capable ofdefending yourself as a stray cat!"

When Katie brought in the tea-tray, the boy opened his eyes and sat upwith a bewildered air. Recognizing the Gadfly, whom he already regardedas his natural protector, he wriggled off the sofa, and, much encumberedby the folds of his blanket, came up to nestle against him. He wasby now sufficiently revived to be inquisitive; and, pointing to themutilated left hand, in which the Gadfly was holding a piece of cake, asked:

"What's that?"

"That? Cake; do you want some? I think you've had enough for now. Waittill to-morrow, little man. "

"No--that!" He stretched out his hand and touched the stumps of theamputated fingers and the great scar on the wrist. The Gadfly put downhis cake. 

"Oh, that! It's the same sort of thing as what you have on yourshoulder--a hit I got from someone stronger than I was. "

"Didn't it hurt awfully?"

"Oh, I don't know--not more than other things. There, now, go to sleepagain; you have no business asking questions at this time of night. "

When the carriage arrived the boy was again asleep; and the Gadfly, without awaking him, lifted him gently and carried him out on to thestairs. 

"You have been a sort of ministering angel to me to-day, " he said toGemma, pausing at the door. "But I suppose that need not prevent us fromquarrelling to our heart's content in future. "

"I have no desire to quarrel with anyone. "

"Ah! but I have. Life would be unendurable without quarrels. A goodquarrel is the salt of the earth; it's better than a variety show!"

And with that he went downstairs, laughing softly to himself, with thesleeping child in his arms. 

CHAPTER VII. 

ONE day in the first week of January Martini, who had sent roundthe forms of invitation to the monthly group-meeting of the literarycommittee, received from the Gadfly a laconic, pencil-scrawled "Verysorry: can't come. " He was a little annoyed, as a notice of "importantbusiness" had been put into the invitation; this cavalier treatmentseemed to him almost insolent. Moreover, three separate letterscontaining bad news arrived during the day, and the wind was in theeast, so that Martini felt out of sorts and out of temper; and when, atthe group meeting, Dr. Riccardo asked, "Isn't Rivarez here?" he answeredrather sulkily: "No; he seems to have got something more interesting onhand, and can't come, or doesn't want to. "

"Really, Martini, " said Galli irritably, "you are about the mostprejudiced person in Florence. Once you object to a man, everything hedoes is wrong. How could Rivarez come when he's ill?"

"Who told you he was ill?"

"Didn't you know? He's been laid up for the last four days. "

"What's the matter with him?"

"I don't know. He had to put off an appointment with me on Thursday onaccount of illness; and last night, when I went round, I heard that hewas too ill to see anyone. I thought Riccardo would be looking afterhim. "

"I knew nothing about it. I'll go round to-night and see if he wantsanything. "

The next morning Riccardo, looking very pale and tired, came intoGemma's little study. She was sitting at the table, reading outmonotonous strings of figures to Martini, who, with a magnifying glassin one hand and a finely pointed pencil in the other, was makingtiny marks in the pages of a book. She made with one hand a gesturerequesting silence. Riccardo, knowing that a person who is writing incipher must not be interrupted, sat down on the sofa behind her andyawned like a man who can hardly keep awake. 

"2, 4; 3, 7; 6, 1; 3, 5; 4, 1;" Gemma's voice went on with machine-likeevenness. "8, 4; 7, 2; 5, 1; that finishes the sentence, Cesare. "

She stuck a pin into the paper to mark the exact place, and turnedround. 

"Good-morning, doctor; how fagged you look! Are you well?"

"Oh, I'm well enough--only tired out. I've had an awful night withRivarez. "

"With Rivarez?"

"Yes; I've been up with him all night, and now I must go off to myhospital patients. I just came round to know whether you can think ofanyone that could look after him a bit for the next few days. He's in adevil of a state. I'll do my best, of course; but I really haven't thetime; and he won't hear of my sending in a nurse. "

"What is the matter with him?"

"Well, rather a complication of things. First of all----"

"First of all, have you had any breakfast?"

"Yes, thank you. About Rivarez--no doubt, it's complicated with a lot ofnerve trouble; but the main cause of disturbance is an old injurythat seems to have been disgracefully neglected. Altogether, he's ina frightfully knocked-about state; I suppose it was that war in SouthAmerica--and he certainly didn't get proper care when the mischief wasdone. Probably things were managed in a very rough-and-ready fashionout there; he's lucky to be alive at all. However, there's a chronictendency to inflammation, and any trifle may bring on an attack----"

"Is that dangerous?"

"N-no; the chief danger in a case of that kind is of the patient gettingdesperate and taking a dose of arsenic. "

"It is very painful, of course?"

"It's simply horrible; I don't know how he manages to bear it. I wasobliged to stupefy him with opium in the night--a thing I hate to dowith a nervous patient; but I had to stop it somehow. "

"He is nervous, I should think. "

"Very, but splendidly plucky. As long as he was not actuallylight-headed with the pain last night, his coolness was quite wonderful. But I had an awful job with him towards the end. How long do you supposethis thing has been going on? Just five nights; and not a soul withincall except that stupid landlady, who wouldn't wake if the house tumbleddown, and would be no use if she did. "

"But what about the ballet-girl?"

"Yes; isn't that a curious thing? He won't let her come near him. Hehas a morbid horror of her. Altogether, he's one of the mostincomprehensible creatures I ever met--a perfect mass ofcontradictions. "

He took out his watch and looked at it with a preoccupied face. "I shallbe late at the hospital; but it can't be helped. The junior will haveto begin without me for once. I wish I had known of all this before--itought not to have been let go on that way night after night. "

"But why on earth didn't he send to say he was ill?" Martiniinterrupted. "He might have guessed we shouldn't have left him strandedin that fashion. "

"I wish, doctor, " said Gemma, "that you had sent for one of us lastnight, instead of wearing yourself out like this. "

"My dear lady, I wanted to send round to Galli; but Rivarez got sofrantic at the suggestion that I didn't dare attempt it. When I askedhim whether there was anyone else he would like fetched, he looked at mefor a minute, as if he were scared out of his wits, and then put upboth hands to his eyes and said: 'Don't tell them; they will laugh!'He seemed quite possessed with some fancy about people laughing atsomething. I couldn't make out what; he kept talking Spanish; butpatients do say the oddest things sometimes. "

"Who is with him now?" asked Gemma. 

"No one except the landlady and her maid. "

"I'll go to him at once, " said Martini. 

"Thank you. I'll look round again in the evening. You'll find a paperof written directions in the table-drawer by the large window, and theopium is on the shelf in the next room. If the pain comes on again, givehim another dose--not more than one; but don't leave the bottle where hecan get at it, whatever you do; he might be tempted to take too much. "

When Martini entered the darkened room, the Gadfly turned his headround quickly, and, holding out to him a burning hand, began, in a badimitation of his usual flippant manner:

"Ah, Martini! You have come to rout me out about those proofs. It's nouse swearing at me for missing the committee last night; the fact is, Ihave not been quite well, and----"

"Never mind the committee. I have just seen Riccardo, and have come toknow if I can be of any use. "

The Gadfly set his face like a flint. 

"Oh, really! that is very kind of you; but it wasn't worth the trouble. I'm only a little out of sorts. "

"So I understood from Riccardo. He was up with you all night, Ibelieve. "

The Gadfly bit his lip savagely. 

"I am quite comfortable, thank you, and don't want anything. "

"Very well; then I will sit in the other room; perhaps you would ratherbe alone. I will leave the door ajar, in case you call me. "

"Please don't trouble about it; I really shan't want anything. I shouldbe wasting your time for nothing. "

"Nonsense, man!" Martini broke in roughly. "What's the use of tryingto fool me that way? Do you think I have no eyes? Lie still and go tosleep, if you can. "

He went into the adjoining room, and, leaving the door open, sat downwith a book. Presently he heard the Gadfly move restlessly two or threetimes. He put down his book and listened. There was a short silence, then another restless movement; then the quick, heavy, panting breathof a man clenching his teeth to suppress a groan. He went back into theroom. 

"Can I do anything for you, Rivarez?"

There was no answer, and he crossed the room to the bed-side. TheGadfly, with a ghastly, livid face, looked at him for a moment, andsilently shook his head. 

"Shall I give you some more opium? Riccardo said you were to have it ifthe pain got very bad. "

"No, thank you; I can bear it a bit longer. It may be worse later on. "

Martini shrugged his shoulders and sat down beside the bed. For aninterminable hour he watched in silence; then he rose and fetched theopium. 

"Rivarez, I won't let this go on any longer; if you can stand it, Ican't. You must have the stuff. "

The Gadfly took it without speaking. Then he turned away and closedhis eyes. Martini sat down again, and listened as the breathing becamegradually deep and even. 

The Gadfly was too much exhausted to wake easily when once asleep. Hourafter hour he lay absolutely motionless. Martini approached him severaltimes during the day and evening, and looked at the still figure; but, except the breathing, there was no sign of life. The face was so wan andcolourless that at last a sudden fear seized upon him; what if he hadgiven too much opium? The injured left arm lay on the coverlet, andhe shook it gently to rouse the sleeper. As he did so, the unfastenedsleeve fell back, showing a series of deep and fearful scars coveringthe arm from wrist to elbow. 

"That arm must have been in a pleasant condition when those marks werefresh, " said Riccardo's voice behind him. 

"Ah, there you are at last! Look here, Riccardo; ought this man to sleepforever? I gave him a dose about ten hours ago, and he hasn't moved amuscle since. "

Riccardo stooped down and listened for a moment. 

"No; he is breathing quite properly; it's nothing but sheerexhaustion--what you might expect after such a night. There may beanother paroxysm before morning. Someone will sit up, I hope?"

"Galli will; he has sent to say he will be here by ten. "

"It's nearly that now. Ah, he's waking! Just see the maidservant getsthat broth hot. Gently--gently, Rivarez! There, there, you needn'tfight, man; I'm not a bishop!"

The Gadfly started up with a shrinking, scared look. "Is it my turn?" hesaid hurriedly in Spanish. "Keep the people amused a minute; I---- Ah! Ididn't see you, Riccardo. "

He looked round the room and drew one hand across his forehead as ifbewildered. "Martini! Why, I thought you had gone away. I must have beenasleep. "

"You have been sleeping like the beauty in the fairy story for the lastten hours; and now you are to have some broth and go to sleep again. "

"Ten hours! Martini, surely you haven't been here all that time?"

"Yes; I was beginning to wonder whether I hadn't given you an overdoseof opium. "

The Gadfly shot a sly glance at him. 

"No such luck! Wouldn't you have nice quiet committee-meetings? Whatthe devil do you want, Riccardo? Do for mercy's sake leave me in peace, can't you? I hate being mauled about by doctors. "

"Well then, drink this and I'll leave you in peace. I shall come roundin a day or two, though, and give you a thorough overhauling. I thinkyou have pulled through the worst of this business now; you don't lookquite so much like a death's head at a feast. "

"Oh, I shall be all right soon, thanks. Who's that--Galli? I seem tohave a collection of all the graces here to-night. "

"I have come to stop the night with you. "

"Nonsense! I don't want anyone. Go home, all the lot of you. Even ifthe thing should come on again, you can't help me; I won't keep takingopium. It's all very well once in a way. "

"I'm afraid you're right, " Riccardo said. "But that's not always an easyresolution to stick to. "

The Gadfly looked up, smiling. "No fear! If I'd been going in for thatsort of thing, I should have done it long ago. "

"Anyway, you are not going to be left alone, " Riccardo answered drily. "Come into the other room a minute, Galli; I want to speak to you. Good-night, Rivarez; I'll look in to-morrow. "

Martini was following them out of the room when he heard his name softlycalled. The Gadfly was holding out a hand to him. 

"Thank you!"

"Oh, stuff! Go to sleep. "

When Riccardo had gone, Martini remained a few minutes in the outerroom, talking with Galli. As he opened the front door of the house heheard a carriage stop at the garden gate and saw a woman's figure getout and come up the path. It was Zita, returning, evidently, from someevening entertainment. He lifted his hat and stood aside to let herpass, then went out into the dark lane leading from the house to thePoggio Imperiale. Presently the gate clicked and rapid footsteps camedown the lane. 

"Wait a minute!" she said. 

When he turned back to meet her she stopped short, and then came slowlytowards him, dragging one hand after her along the hedge. There was asingle street-lamp at the corner, and he saw by its light that she washanging her head down as though embarrassed or ashamed. 

"How is he?" she asked without looking up. 

"Much better than he was this morning. He has been asleep most of theday and seems less exhausted. I think the attack is passing over. "

She still kept her eyes on the ground. 

"Has it been very bad this time?"

"About as bad as it can well be, I should think. "

"I thought so. When he won't let me come into the room, that alwaysmeans it's bad. "

"Does he often have attacks like this?"

"That depends---- It's so irregular. Last summer, in Switzerland, he wasquite well; but the winter before, when we were in Vienna, it was awful. He wouldn't let me come near him for days together. He hates to have meabout when he's ill. "

She glanced up for a moment, and, dropping her eyes again, went on:

"He always used to send me off to a ball, or concert, or something, onone pretext or another, when he felt it coming on. Then he would lockhimself into his room. I used to slip back and sit outside the door--hewould have been furious if he'd known. He'd let the dog come in if itwhined, but not me. He cares more for it, I think. "

There was a curious, sullen defiance in her manner. 

"Well, I hope it won't be so bad any more, " said Martini kindly. "Dr. Riccardo is taking the case seriously in hand. Perhaps he will be ableto make a permanent improvement. And, in any case, the treatment givesrelief at the moment. But you had better send to us at once, anothertime. He would have suffered very much less if we had known of itearlier. Good-night!"

He held out his hand, but she drew back with a quick gesture of refusal. 

"I don't see why you want to shake hands with his mistress. "

"As you like, of course, " he began in embarrassment. 

She stamped her foot on the ground. "I hate you!" she cried, turning onhim with eyes like glowing coals. "I hate you all! You come here talkingpolitics to him; and he lets you sit up the night with him and give himthings to stop the pain, and I daren't so much as peep at him throughthe door! What is he to you? What right have you to come and steal himaway from me? I hate you! I hate you! I HATE you!"

She burst into a violent fit of sobbing, and, darting back into thegarden, slammed the gate in his face. 

"Good Heavens!" said Martini to himself, as he walked down the lane. "That girl is actually in love with him! Of all the extraordinarythings----"

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE Gadfly's recovery was rapid. One afternoon in the following weekRiccardo found him lying on the sofa in a Turkish dressing-gown, chatting with Martini and Galli. He even talked about going downstairs;but Riccardo merely laughed at the suggestion and asked whether he wouldlike a tramp across the valley to Fiesole to start with. 

"You might go and call on the Grassinis for a change, " he addedwickedly. "I'm sure madame would be delighted to see you, especiallynow, when you look so pale and interesting. "

The Gadfly clasped his hands with a tragic gesture. 

"Bless my soul! I never thought of that! She'd take me for one ofItaly's martyrs, and talk patriotism to me. I should have to act up tothe part, and tell her I've been cut to pieces in an underground dungeonand stuck together again rather badly; and she'd want to know exactlywhat the process felt like. You don't think she'd believe it, Riccardo?I'll bet you my Indian dagger against the bottled tape-worm in yourden that she'll swallow the biggest lie I can invent. That's a generousoffer, and you'd better jump at it. "

"Thanks, I'm not so fond of murderous tools as you are. "

"Well, a tape-worm is as murderous as a dagger, any day, and not half sopretty. "

"But as it happens, my dear fellow, I don't want the dagger and I dowant the tape-worm. Martini, I must run off. Are you in charge of thisobstreperous patient?"

"Only till three o'clock. Galli and I have to go to San Miniato, andSignora Bolla is coming till I can get back. "

"Signora Bolla!" the Gadfly repeated in a tone of dismay. "Why, Martini, this will never do! I can't have a lady bothered over me and myailments. Besides, where is she to sit? She won't like to come in here. "

"Since when have you gone in so fiercely for the proprieties?" askedRiccardo, laughing. "My good man, Signora Bolla is head nurse in generalto all of us. She has looked after sick people ever since she was inshort frocks, and does it better than any sister of mercy I know. Won'tlike to come into your room! Why, you might be talking of the Grassiniwoman! I needn't leave any directions if she's coming, Martini. Heartalive, it's half-past two; I must be off!"

"Now, Rivarez, take your physic before she comes, " said Galli, approaching the sofa with a medicine glass. 

"Damn the physic!" The Gadfly had reached the irritable stage ofconvalescence, and was inclined to give his devoted nurses a bad time. "W-what do you want to d-d-dose me with all sorts of horrors for now thepain is gone?"

"Just because I don't want it to come back. You wouldn't like it if youcollapsed when Signora Bolla is here and she had to give you opium. "

"My g-good sir, if that pain is going to come back it will come; it'snot a t-toothache to be frightened away with your trashy mixtures. Theyare about as much use as a t-toy squirt for a house on fire. However, Isuppose you must have your way. "

He took the glass with his left hand, and the sight of the terriblescars recalled Galli to the former subject of conversation. 

"By the way, " he asked; "how did you get so much knocked about? In thewar, was it?"

"Now, didn't I just tell you it was a case of secret dungeons and----"

"Yes, that version is for Signora Grassini's benefit. Really, I supposeit was in the war with Brazil?"

"Yes, I got a bit hurt there; and then hunting in the savage districtsand one thing and another. "

"Ah, yes; on the scientific expedition. You can fasten your shirt; Ihave quite done. You seem to have had an exciting time of it out there. "

"Well, of course you can't live in savage countries without getting afew adventures once in a way, " said the Gadfly lightly; "and you canhardly expect them all to be pleasant. "

"Still, I don't understand how you managed to get so much knocked aboutunless in a bad adventure with wild beasts--those scars on your leftarm, for instance. "

"Ah, that was in a puma-hunt. You see, I had fired----"

There was a knock at the door. 

"Is the room tidy, Martini? Yes? Then please open the door. This isreally most kind, signora; you must excuse my not getting up. "

"Of course you mustn't get up; I have not come as a caller. I am alittle early, Cesare. I thought perhaps you were in a hurry to go. "

"I can stop for a quarter of an hour. Let me put your cloak in the otherroom. Shall I take the basket, too?"

"Take care; those are new-laid eggs. Katie brought them in from MonteOliveto this morning. There are some Christmas roses for you, SignorRivarez; I know you are fond of flowers. "

She sat down beside the table and began clipping the stalks of theflowers and arranging them in a vase. 

"Well, Rivarez, " said Galli; "tell us the rest of the puma-hunt story;you had just begun. "

"Ah, yes! Galli was asking me about life in South America, signora; andI was telling him how I came to get my left arm spoiled. It was in Peru. We had been wading a river on a puma-hunt, and when I fired at the beastthe powder wouldn't go off; it had got splashed with water. Naturallythe puma didn't wait for me to rectify that; and this is the result. "

"That must have been a pleasant experience. "

"Oh, not so bad! One must take the rough with the smooth, of course; butit's a splendid life on the whole. Serpent-catching, for instance----"

He rattled on, telling anecdote after anecdote; now of the Argentinewar, now of the Brazilian expedition, now of hunting feats andadventures with savages or wild beasts. Galli, with the delight ofa child hearing a fairy story, kept interrupting every moment to askquestions. He was of the impressionable Neapolitan temperament and lovedeverything sensational. Gemma took some knitting from her basket andlistened silently, with busy fingers and downcast eyes. Martini frownedand fidgeted. The manner in which the anecdotes were told seemed tohim boastful and self-conscious; and, notwithstanding his unwillingadmiration for a man who could endure physical pain with the amazingfortitude which he had seen the week before, he genuinely disliked theGadfly and all his works and ways. 

"It must have been a glorious life!" sighed Galli with naive envy. "Iwonder you ever made up your mind to leave Brazil. Other countries mustseem so flat after it!"

"I think I was happiest in Peru and Ecuador, " said the Gadfly. "Thatreally is a magnificent tract of country. Of course it is very hot, especially the coast district of Ecuador, and one has to rough it a bit;but the scenery is superb beyond imagination. "

"I believe, " said Galli, "the perfect freedom of life in a barbarouscountry would attract me more than any scenery. A man must feel hispersonal, human dignity as he can never feel it in our crowded towns. "

"Yes, " the Gadfly answered; "that is----"

Gemma raised her eyes from her knitting and looked at him. He flushedsuddenly scarlet and broke off. There was a little pause. 

"Surely it is not come on again?" asked Galli anxiously. 

"Oh, nothing to speak of, thanks to your s-s-soothing application that Ib-b-blasphemed against. Are you going already, Martini?"

"Yes. Come along, Galli; we shall be late. "

Gemma followed the two men out of the room, and presently returned withan egg beaten up in milk. 

"Take this, please, " she said with mild authority; and sat down again toher knitting. The Gadfly obeyed meekly. 

For half an hour, neither spoke. Then the Gadfly said in a very lowvoice:

"Signora Bolla!"

She looked up. He was tearing the fringe of the couch-rug, and kept hiseyes lowered. 

"You didn't believe I was speaking the truth just now, " he began. 

"I had not the smallest doubt that you were telling falsehoods, " sheanswered quietly. 

"You were quite right. I was telling falsehoods all the time. "

"Do you mean about the war?"

"About everything. I was not in that war at all; and as for theexpedition, I had a few adventures, of course, and most of those storiesare true, but it was not that way I got smashed. You have detected me inone lie, so I may as well confess the lot, I suppose. "

"Does it not seem to you rather a waste of energy to invent so manyfalsehoods?" she asked. "I should have thought it was hardly worth thetrouble. "

"What would you have? You know your own English proverb: 'Ask noquestions and you'll be told no lies. ' It's no pleasure to me to foolpeople that way, but I must answer them somehow when they ask what madea cripple of me; and I may as well invent something pretty while I'mabout it. You saw how pleased Galli was. "

"Do you prefer pleasing Galli to speaking the truth?"

"The truth!" He looked up with the torn fringe in his hand. "Youwouldn't have me tell those people the truth? I'd cut my tongue outfirst!" Then with an awkward, shy abruptness:

"I have never told it to anybody yet; but I'll tell you if you care tohear. "

She silently laid down her knitting. To her there was somethinggrievously pathetic in this hard, secret, unlovable creature, suddenlyflinging his personal confidence at the feet of a woman whom he barelyknew and whom he apparently disliked. 

A long silence followed, and she looked up. He was leaning his left armon the little table beside him, and shading his eyes with the mutilatedhand, and she noticed the nervous tension of the fingers and thethrobbing of the scar on the wrist. She came up to him and called himsoftly by name. He started violently and raised his head. 

"I f-forgot, " he stammered apologetically. "I was g-going to t-tell youabout----"

"About the--accident or whatever it was that caused your lameness. Butif it worries you----"

"The accident? Oh, the smashing! Yes; only it wasn't an accident, it wasa poker. "

She stared at him in blank amazement. He pushed back his hair with ahand that shook perceptibly, and looked up at her, smiling. 

"Won't you sit down? Bring your chair close, please. I'm so sorry Ican't get it for you. R-really, now I come to think of it, the casewould have been a p-perfect t-treasure-trove for Riccardo if he hadhad me to treat; he has the true surgeon's love for broken bones, andI believe everything in me that was breakable was broken on thatoccasion--except my neck. "

"And your courage, " she put in softly. "But perhaps you count that amongyour unbreakable possessions. "

He shook his head. "No, " he said; "my courage has been mended up aftera fashion, with the rest of me; but it was fairly broken then, like asmashed tea-cup; that's the horrible part of it. Ah---- Yes; well, I wastelling you about the poker. 

"It was--let me see--nearly thirteen years ago, in Lima. I told youPeru was a delightful country to live in; but it's not quite so nice forpeople that happen to be at low water, as I was. I had been down in theArgentine, and then in Chili, tramping the country and starving, mostly;and had come up from Valparaiso as odd-man on a cattle-boat. I couldn'tget any work in Lima itself, so I went down to the docks, --they'reat Callao, you know, --to try there. Well of course in all thoseshipping-ports there are low quarters where the sea-faring peoplecongregate; and after some time I got taken on as servant in one of thegambling hells there. I had to do the cooking and billiard-marking, andfetch drink for the sailors and their women, and all that sort of thing. Not very pleasant work; still I was glad to get it; there was at leastfood and the sight of human faces and sound of human tongues--of akind. You may think that was no advantage; but I had just been down withyellow fever, alone in the outhouse of a wretched half-caste shanty, andthe thing had given me the horrors. Well, one night I was told to putout a tipsy Lascar who was making himself obnoxious; he had come ashoreand lost all his money and was in a bad temper. Of course I had to obeyif I didn't want to lose my place and starve; but the man was twice asstrong as I--I was not twenty-one and as weak as a cat after the fever. Besides, he had the poker. "

He paused a moment, glancing furtively at her; then went on:

"Apparently he intended to put an end to me altogether; but somehow hemanaged to scamp his work--Lascars always do if they have a chance; andleft just enough of me not smashed to go on living with. "

"Yes, but the other people, could they not interfere? Were they allafraid of one Lascar?"

He looked up and burst out laughing. 

"THE OTHER PEOPLE? The gamblers and the people of the house? Why, youdon't understand! They were negroes and Chinese and Heaven knows what;and I was their servant--THEIR PROPERTY. They stood round and enjoyedthe fun, of course. That sort of thing counts for a good joke out there. So it is if you don't happen to be the subject practised on. "

She shuddered. 

"Then what was the end of it?"

"That I can't tell you much about; a man doesn't remember the nextfew days after a thing of that kind, as a rule. But there was a ship'ssurgeon near, and it seems that when they found I was not dead, somebodycalled him in. He patched me up after a fashion--Riccardo seems to thinkit was rather badly done, but that may be professional jealousy. Anyhow, when I came to my senses, an old native woman had taken me in forChristian charity--that sounds queer, doesn't it? She used to sithuddled up in the corner of the hut, smoking a black pipe and spittingon the floor and crooning to herself. However, she meant well, andshe told me I might die in peace and nobody should disturb me. But thespirit of contradiction was strong in me and I elected to live. Itwas rather a difficult job scrambling back to life, and sometimes Iam inclined to think it was a great deal of cry for very little wool. Anyway that old woman's patience was wonderful; she kept me--how longwas it?--nearly four months lying in her hut, raving like a mad thing atintervals, and as vicious as a bear with a sore ear between-whiles. The pain was pretty bad, you see, and my temper had been spoiled inchildhood with overmuch coddling. "

"And then?"

"Oh, then--I got up somehow and crawled away. No, don't think it wasany delicacy about taking a poor woman's charity--I was past caring forthat; it was only that I couldn't bear the place any longer. You talkedjust now about my courage; if you had seen me then! The worst of thepain used to come on every evening, about dusk; and in the afternoonI used to lie alone, and watch the sun get lower and lower---- Oh, youcan't understand! It makes me sick to look at a sunset now!"

A long pause. 

"Well, then I went up country, to see if I could get work anywhere--itwould have driven me mad to stay in Lima. I got as far as Cuzco, andthere------ Really I don't know why I'm inflicting all this ancienthistory on you; it hasn't even the merit of being funny. "

She raised her head and looked at him with deep and serious eyes. "PLEASE don't talk that way, " she said. 

He bit his lip and tore off another piece of the rug-fringe. 

"Shall I go on?" he asked after a moment. 

"If--if you will. I am afraid it is horrible to you to remember. "

"Do you think I forget when I hold my tongue? It's worse then. Butdon't imagine it's the thing itself that haunts me so. It is the fact ofhaving lost the power over myself. "

"I--don't think I quite understand. "

"I mean, it is the fact of having come to the end of my courage, to thepoint where I found myself a coward. "

"Surely there is a limit to what anyone can bear. "

"Yes; and the man who has once reached that limit never knows when hemay reach it again. "

"Would you mind telling me, " she asked, hesitating, "how you came to bestranded out there alone at twenty?"

"Very simply: I had a good opening in life, at home in the old country, and ran away from it. "

"Why?"

He laughed again in his quick, harsh way. 

"Why? Because I was a priggish young cub, I suppose. I had been broughtup in an over-luxurious home, and coddled and faddled after till Ithought the world was made of pink cotton-wool and sugared almonds. Thenone fine day I found out that someone I had trusted had deceived me. Why, how you start! What is it?"

"Nothing. Go on, please. "

"I found out that I had been tricked into believing a lie; a common bitof experience, of course; but, as I tell you, I was young and priggish, and thought that liars go to hell. So I ran away from home and plungedinto South America to sink or swim as I could, without a cent in mypocket or a word of Spanish in my tongue, or anything but white handsand expensive habits to get my bread with. And the natural result wasthat I got a dip into the real hell to cure me of imagining sham ones. A pretty thorough dip, too--it was just five years before the Duprezexpedition came along and pulled me out. "

"Five years! Oh, that is terrible! And had you no friends?"

"Friends! I"--he turned on her with sudden fierceness--"I have NEVER hada friend!"

The next instant he seemed a little ashamed of his vehemence, and wenton quickly:

"You mustn't take all this too seriously; I dare say I made the worstof things, and really it wasn't so bad the first year and a half; I wasyoung and strong and I managed to scramble along fairly well till theLascar put his mark on me. But after that I couldn't get work. It'swonderful what an effectual tool a poker is if you handle it properly;and nobody cares to employ a cripple. "

"What sort of work did you do?"

"What I could get. For some time I lived by odd-jobbing for the blackson the sugar plantations, fetching and carrying and so on. It's one ofthe curious things in life, by the way, that slaves always contrive tohave a slave of their own, and there's nothing a negro likes so much asa white fag to bully. But it was no use; the overseers always turned meoff. I was too lame to be quick; and I couldn't manage the heavy loads. And then I was always getting these attacks of inflammation, or whateverthe confounded thing is. 

"After some time I went down to the silver-mines and tried to get workthere; but it was all no good. The managers laughed at the very notionof taking me on, and as for the men, they made a dead set at me. "

"Why was that?"

"Oh, human nature, I suppose; they saw I had only one hand that I couldhit back with. They're a mangy, half-caste lot; negroes and Zambosmostly. And then those horrible coolies! So at last I got enough ofthat, and set off to tramp the country at random; just wandering about, on the chance of something turning up. "

"To tramp? With that lame foot!"

He looked up with a sudden, piteous catching of the breath. 

"I--I was hungry, " he said. 

She turned her head a little away and rested her chin on one hand. Aftera moment's silence he began again, his voice sinking lower and lower ashe spoke:

"Well, I tramped, and tramped, till I was nearly mad with tramping, andnothing came of it. I got down into Ecuador, and there it was worse thanever. Sometimes I'd get a bit of tinkering to do, --I'm a pretty fairtinker, --or an errand to run, or a pigstye to clean out; sometimes Idid--oh, I hardly know what. And then at last, one day------"

The slender, brown hand clenched itself suddenly on the table, andGemma, raising her head, glanced at him anxiously. His side-face wasturned towards her, and she could see a vein on the temple beating likea hammer, with quick, irregular strokes. She bent forward and laid agentle hand on his arm. 

"Never mind the rest; it's almost too horrible to talk about. "

He stared doubtfully at the hand, shook his head, and went on steadily:

"Then one day I met a travelling variety show. You remember that one theother night; well, that sort of thing, only coarser and more indecent. The Zambos are not like these gentle Florentines; they don't care foranything that is not foul or brutal. There was bull-fighting, too, ofcourse. They had camped out by the roadside for the night; and I went upto their tent to beg. Well, the weather was hot and I was half starved, and so--I fainted at the door of the tent. I had a trick of faintingsuddenly at that time, like a boarding-school girl with tight stays. Sothey took me in and gave me brandy, and food, and so on; and then--thenext morning--they offered me----"

Another pause. 

"They wanted a hunchback, or monstrosity of some kind; for the boysto pelt with orange-peel and banana-skins--something to set the blackslaughing------ You saw the clown that night--well, I was that--fortwo years. I suppose you have a humanitarian feeling about negroes andChinese. Wait till you've been at their mercy!

"Well, I learned to do the tricks. I was not quite deformed enough; butthey set that right with an artificial hump and made the most ofthis foot and arm---- And the Zambos are not critical; they're easilysatisfied if only they can get hold of some live thing to torture--thefool's dress makes a good deal of difference, too. 

"The only difficulty was that I was so often ill and unable to play. Sometimes, if the manager was out of temper, he would insist on mycoming into the ring when I had these attacks on; and I believe thepeople liked those evenings best. Once, I remember, I fainted right offwith the pain in the middle of the performance---- When I came to mysenses again, the audience had got round me--hooting and yelling andpelting me with------"

"Don't! I can't hear any more! Stop, for God's sake!"

She was standing up with both hands over her ears. He broke off, and, looking up, saw the glitter of tears in her eyes. 

"Damn it all, what an idiot I am!" he said under his breath. 

She crossed the room and stood for a little while looking out of thewindow. When she turned round, the Gadfly was again leaning on the tableand covering his eyes with one hand. He had evidently forgotten herpresence, and she sat down beside him without speaking. After a longsilence she said slowly:

"I want to ask you a question. "

"Yes?" without moving. 

"Why did you not cut your throat?"

He looked up in grave surprise. "I did not expect YOU to ask that, " hesaid. "And what about my work? Who would have done it for me?"

"Your work---- Ah, I see! You talked just now about being a coward;well, if you have come through that and kept to your purpose, you arethe very bravest man that I have ever met. "

He covered his eyes again, and held her hand in a close passionateclasp. A silence that seemed to have no end fell around them. 

Suddenly a clear and fresh soprano voice rang out from the garden below, singing a verse of a doggerel French song:

 "Eh, Pierrot! Danse, Pierrot! Danse un peu, mon pauvre Jeannot! Vive la danse et l'allegresse! Jouissons de notre bell' jeunesse! Si moi je pleure ou moi je soupire, Si moi je fais la triste figure-- Monsieur, ce n'est que pour rire! Ha! Ha, ha, ha! Monsieur, ce n'est que pour rire!"

At the first words the Gadfly tore his hand from Gemma's and shrank awaywith a stifled groan. She clasped both hands round his arm and pressedit firmly, as she might have pressed that of a person undergoing asurgical operation. When the song broke off and a chorus of laughter andapplause came from the garden, he looked up with the eyes of a torturedanimal. 

"Yes, it is Zita, " he said slowly; "with her officer friends. She triedto come in here the other night, before Riccardo came. I should havegone mad if she had touched me!"

"But she does not know, " Gemma protested softly. "She cannot guess thatshe is hurting you. "

"She is like a Creole, " he answered, shuddering. "Do you remember herface that night when we brought in the beggar-child? That is how thehalf-castes look when they laugh. "

Another burst of laughter came from the garden. Gemma rose and openedthe window. Zita, with a gold-embroidered scarf wound coquettishlyround her head, was standing in the garden path, holding up a bunchof violets, for the possession of which three young cavalry officersappeared to be competing. 

"Mme. Reni!" said Gemma. 

Zita's face darkened like a thunder-cloud. "Madame?" she said, turningand raising her eyes with a defiant look. 

"Would your friends mind speaking a little more softly? Signor Rivarezis very unwell. "

The gipsy flung down her violets. "Allez-vous en!" she said, turningsharply on the astonished officers. "Vous m'embetez, messieurs!"

She went slowly out into the road. Gemma closed the window. 

"They have gone away, " she said, turning to him. 

"Thank you. I--I am sorry to have troubled you. "

"It was no trouble. " He at once detected the hesitation in her voice. 

"'But?'" he said. "That sentence was not finished, signora; there was anunspoken 'but' in the back of your mind. "

"If you look into the backs of people's minds, you mustn't be offendedat what you read there. It is not my affair, of course, but I cannotunderstand----"

"My aversion to Mme. Reni? It is only when----"

"No, your caring to live with her when you feel that aversion. It seemsto me an insult to her as a woman and as----"

"A woman!" He burst out laughing harshly. "Is THAT what you call awoman? 'Madame, ce n'est que pour rire!'"

"That is not fair!" she said. "You have no right to speak of her in thatway to anyone--especially to another woman!"

He turned away, and lay with wide-open eyes, looking out of the windowat the sinking sun. She lowered the blind and closed the shutters, thathe might not see it set; then sat down at the table by the other windowand took up her knitting again. 

"Would you like the lamp?" she asked after a moment. 

He shook his head. 

When it grew too dark to see, Gemma rolled up her knitting and laidit in the basket. For some time she sat with folded hands, silentlywatching the Gadfly's motionless figure. The dim evening light, fallingon his face, seemed to soften away its hard, mocking, self-assertivelook, and to deepen the tragic lines about the mouth. By some fancifulassociation of ideas her memory went vividly back to the stone crosswhich her father had set up in memory of Arthur, and to its inscription:

 "All thy waves and billows have gone over me. "

An hour passed in unbroken silence. At last she rose and went softly outof the room. Coming back with a lamp, she paused for a moment, thinkingthat the Gadfly was asleep. As the light fell on his face he turnedround. 

"I have made you a cup of coffee, " she said, setting clown the lamp. 

"Put it down a minute. Will you come here, please. "

He took both her hands in his. 

"I have been thinking, " he said. "You are quite right; it is an uglytangle I have got my life into. But remember, a man does not meet everyday a woman whom he can--love; and I--I have been in deep waters. I amafraid----"

"Afraid----"

"Of the dark. Sometimes I DARE not be alone at night. I must havesomething living--something solid beside me. It is the outer darkness, where shall be---- No, no! It's not that; that's a sixpenny toyhell;--it's the INNER darkness. There's no weeping or gnashing of teeththere; only silence--silence----"

His eyes dilated. She was quite still, hardly breathing till he spokeagain. 

"This is all mystification to you, isn't it? You can'tunderstand--luckily for you. What I mean is that I have a pretty fairchance of going mad if I try to live quite alone---- Don't think toohardly of me, if you can help it; I am not altogether the vicious bruteyou perhaps imagine me to be. "

"I cannot try to judge for you, " she answered. "I have not suffered asyou have. But--I have been in rather deep water too, in another way; andI think--I am sure--that if you let the fear of anything drive you todo a really cruel or unjust or ungenerous thing, you will regret itafterwards. For the rest--if you have failed in this one thing, I knowthat I, in your place, should have failed altogether, --should havecursed God and died. "

He still kept her hands in his. 

"Tell me, " he said very softly; "have you ever in your life done areally cruel thing?"

She did not answer, but her head sank down, and two great tears fell onhis hand. 

"Tell me!" he whispered passionately, clasping her hands tighter. "Tellme! I have told you all my misery. "

"Yes, --once, --long ago. And I did it to the person I loved best in theworld. "

The hands that clasped hers were trembling violently; but they did notloosen their hold. 

"He was a comrade, " she went on; "and I believed a slander againsthim, --a common glaring lie that the police had invented. I struck him inthe face for a traitor; and he went away and drowned himself. Then, twodays later, I found out that he had been quite innocent. Perhaps that isa worse memory than any of yours. I would cut off my right hand to undowhat it has done. "

Something swift and dangerous--something that she had not seenbefore, --flashed into his eyes. He bent his head down with a furtive, sudden gesture and kissed the hand. 

She drew back with a startled face. "Don't!" she cried out piteously. "Please don't ever do that again! You hurt me!"

"Do you think you didn't hurt the man you killed?"

"The man I--killed---- Ah, there is Cesare at the gate at last! I--Imust go!"

 *****

When Martini came into the room he found the Gadfly lying alone with theuntouched coffee beside him, swearing softly to himself in a languid, spiritless way, as though he got no satisfaction out of it. 

CHAPTER IX. 

A FEW days later, the Gadfly, still rather pale and limping more thanusual, entered the reading room of the public library and asked forCardinal Montanelli's sermons. Riccardo, who was reading at a table nearhim, looked up. He liked the Gadfly very much, but could not digest thisone trait in him--this curious personal maliciousness. 

"Are you preparing another volley against that unlucky Cardinal?" heasked half irritably. 

"My dear fellow, why do you a-a-always attribute evil m-m-motives topeople? It's m-most unchristian. I am preparing an essay on contemporarytheology for the n-n-new paper. "

"What new paper?" Riccardo frowned. It was perhaps an open secret thata new press-law was expected and that the Opposition was preparing toastonish the town with a radical newspaper; but still it was, formally, a secret. 

"The Swindlers' Gazette, of course, or the Church Calendar. "

"Sh-sh! Rivarez, we are disturbing the other readers. "

"Well then, stick to your surgery, if that's your subject, and l-l-leaveme to th-theology--that's mine. I d-d-don't interfere with yourtreatment of broken bones, though I know a p-p-precious lot more aboutthem than you do. "

He sat down to his volume of sermons with an intent and preoccupiedface. One of the librarians came up to him. 

"Signor Rivarez! I think you were in the Duprez expedition, exploringthe tributaries of the Amazon? Perhaps you will kindly help us in adifficulty. A lady has been inquiring for the records of the expedition, and they are at the binder's. "

"What does she want to know?"

"Only in what year the expedition started and when it passed throughEcuador. "

"It started from Paris in the autumn of 1837, and passed through Quitoin April, 1838. We were three years in Brazil; then went down to Rio andgot back to Paris in the summer of 1841. Does the lady want the dates ofthe separate discoveries?"

"No, thank you; only these. I have written them down. Beppo, take thispaper to Signora Bolla, please. Many thanks, Signor Rivarez. I am sorryto have troubled you. "

The Gadfly leaned back in his chair with a perplexed frown. What did shewant the dates for? When they passed through Ecuador----

Gemma went home with the slip of paper in her hand. April, 1838--andArthur had died in May, 1833. Five years--

She began pacing up and down her room. She had slept badly the last fewnights, and there were dark shadows under her eyes. 

Five years;--and an "overluxurious home"--and "someone he had trustedhad deceived him"--had deceived him--and he had found it out----

She stopped and put up both hands to her head. Oh, this was utterlymad--it was not possible--it was absurd----

And yet, how they had dragged that harbour!

Five years--and he was "not twenty-one" when the Lascar---- Then he musthave been nineteen when he ran away from home. Had he not said: "A yearand a half----" Where did he get those blue eyes from, and thatnervous restlessness of the fingers? And why was he so bitter againstMontanelli? Five years--five years------

If she could but know that he was drowned--if she could but have seenthe body; some day, surely, the old wound would have left off aching, the old memory would have lost its terrors. Perhaps in another twentyyears she would have learned to look back without shrinking. 

All her youth had been poisoned by the thought of what she had done. Resolutely, day after day and year after year, she had fought againstthe demon of remorse. Always she had remembered that her work lay in thefuture; always had shut her eyes and ears to the haunting spectre of thepast. And day after day, year after year, the image of the drowned bodydrifting out to sea had never left her, and the bitter cry that shecould not silence had risen in her heart: "I have killed Arthur! Arthuris dead!" Sometimes it had seemed to her that her burden was too heavyto be borne. 

Now she would have given half her life to have that burden back again. If she had killed him--that was a familiar grief; she had endured it toolong to sink under it now. But if she had driven him, not into the waterbut into------ She sat down, covering her eyes with both hands. And herlife had been darkened for his sake, because he was dead! If she hadbrought upon him nothing worse than death----

Steadily, pitilessly she went back, step by step, through the hell ofhis past life. It was as vivid to her as though she had seen and feltit all; the helpless shivering of the naked soul, the mockery thatwas bitterer than death, the horror of loneliness, the slow, grinding, relentless agony. It was as vivid as if she had sat beside him in thefilthy Indian hut; as if she had suffered with him in the silver-mines, the coffee fields, the horrible variety show--

The variety show---- No, she must shut out that image, at least; it wasenough to drive one mad to sit and think of it. 

She opened a little drawer in her writing-desk. It contained the fewpersonal relics which she could not bring herself to destroy. Shewas not given to the hoarding up of sentimental trifles; and thepreservation of these keepsakes was a concession to that weaker side ofher nature which she kept under with so steady a hand. She very seldomallowed herself to look at them. 

Now she took them out, one after another: Giovanni's first letter toher, and the flowers that had lain in his dead hand; a lock of herbaby's hair and a withered leaf from her father's grave. At the back ofthe drawer was a miniature portrait of Arthur at ten years old--the onlyexisting likeness of him. 

She sat down with it in her hands and looked at the beautiful childishhead, till the face of the real Arthur rose up afresh before her. Howclear it was in every detail! The sensitive lines of the mouth, thewide, earnest eyes, the seraphic purity of expression--they were gravenin upon her memory, as though he had died yesterday. Slowly the blindingtears welled up and hid the portrait. 

Oh, how could she have thought such a thing! It was like sacrilege evento dream of this bright, far-off spirit, bound to the sordid miseries oflife. Surely the gods had loved him a little, and had let him die young!Better a thousand times that he should pass into utter nothingness thanthat he should live and be the Gadfly--the Gadfly, with his faultlessneckties and his doubtful witticisms, his bitter tongue and his balletgirl! No, no! It was all a horrible, senseless fancy; and she had vexedher heart with vain imaginings. Arthur was dead. 

"May I come in?" asked a soft voice at the door. 

She started so that the portrait fell from her hand, and the Gadfly, limping across the room, picked it up and handed it to her. 

"How you startled me!" she said. 

"I am s-so sorry. Perhaps I am disturbing you?"

"No. I was only turning over some old things. "

She hesitated for a moment; then handed him back the miniature. 

"What do you think of that head?"

While he looked at it she watched his face as though her life dependedupon its expression; but it was merely negative and critical. 

"You have set me a difficult task, " he said. "The portrait is faded, and a child's face is always hard to read. But I should think that childwould grow into an unlucky man, and the wisest thing he could do wouldbe to abstain from growing into a man at all. "

"Why?"

"Look at the line of the under-lip. Th-th-that is the sort of naturethat feels pain as pain and wrong as wrong; and the world has nor-r-room for such people; it needs people who feel nothing but theirwork. "

"Is it at all like anyone you know?"

He looked at the portrait more closely. 

"Yes. What a curious thing! Of course it is; very like. "

"Like whom?"

"C-c-cardinal Montan-nelli. I wonder whether his irreproachable Eminencehas any nephews, by the way? Who is it, if I may ask?"

"It is a portrait, taken in childhood, of the friend I told you aboutthe other day----"

"Whom you killed?"

She winced in spite of herself. How lightly, how cruelly he used thatdreadful word!

"Yes, whom I killed--if he is really dead. "

"If?"

She kept her eyes on his face. 

"I have sometimes doubted, " she said. "The body was never found. He mayhave run away from home, like you, and gone to South America. "

"Let us hope not. That would be a bad memory to carry about with you. Ihave d-d-done some hard fighting in my t-time, and have sent m-more thanone man to Hades, perhaps; but if I had it on my conscience that I hadsent any l-living thing to South America, I should sleep badly----"

"Then do you believe, " she interrupted, coming nearer to him withclasped hands, "that if he were not drowned, --if he had been throughyour experience instead, --he would never come back and let the pastgo? Do you believe he would NEVER forget? Remember, it has cost mesomething, too. Look!"

She pushed back the heavy waves of hair from her forehead. Through theblack locks ran a broad white streak. 

There was a long silence. 

"I think, " the Gadfly said slowly, "that the dead are better dead. Forgetting some things is a difficult matter. And if I were in the placeof your dead friend, I would s-s-stay dead. The REVENANT is an uglyspectre. "

She put the portrait back into its drawer and locked the desk. 

"That is hard doctrine, " she said. "And now we will talk about somethingelse. "

"I came to have a little business talk with you, if I may--a privateone, about a plan that I have in my head. "

She drew a chair to the table and sat down. "What do you think of theprojected press-law?" he began, without a trace of his usual stammer. 

"What I think of it? I think it will not be of much value, but half aloaf is better than no bread. "

"Undoubtedly. Then do you intend to work on one of the new papers thesegood folk here are preparing to start?"

"I thought of doing so. There is always a great deal of practical workto be done in starting any paper--printing and circulation arrangementsand----"

"How long are you going to waste your mental gifts in that fashion?"

"Why 'waste'?"

"Because it is waste. You know quite well that you have a far betterhead than most of the men you are working with, and you let them make aregular drudge and Johannes factotum of you. Intellectually you are asfar ahead of Grassini and Galli as if they were schoolboys; yet you sitcorrecting their proofs like a printer's devil. "

"In the first place, I don't spend all my time in correcting proofs; andmoreover it seems to me that you exaggerate my mental capacities. Theyare by no means so brilliant as you think. "

"I don't think them brilliant at all, " he answered quietly; "but I dothink them sound and solid, which is of much more importance. At thosedreary committee meetings it is always you who put your finger on theweak spot in everybody's logic. "

"You are not fair to the others. Martini, for instance, has a verylogical head, and there is no doubt about the capacities of Fabriziand Lega. Then Grassini has a sounder knowledge of Italian economicstatistics than any official in the country, perhaps. "

"Well, that's not saying much; but let us lay them and their capacitiesaside. The fact remains that you, with such gifts as you possess, might do more important work and fill a more responsible post than atpresent. "

"I am quite satisfied with my position. The work I am doing is not ofvery much value, perhaps, but we all do what we can. "

"Signora Bolla, you and I have gone too far to play at compliments andmodest denials now. Tell me honestly, do you recognize that you areusing up your brain on work which persons inferior to you could do aswell?"

"Since you press me for an answer--yes, to some extent. "

"Then why do you let that go on?"

No answer. 

"Why do you let it go on?"

"Because--I can't help it. "

"Why?"

She looked up reproachfully. "That is unkind--it's not fair to press meso. "

"But all the same you are going to tell me why. "

"If you must have it, then--because my life has been smashed intopieces, and I have not the energy to start anything REAL, now. Iam about fit to be a revolutionary cab-horse, and do the party'sdrudge-work. At least I do it conscientiously, and it must be done bysomebody. "

"Certainly it must be done by somebody; but not always by the sameperson. "

"It's about all I'm fit for. "

He looked at her with half-shut eyes, inscrutably. Presently she raisedher head. 

"We are returning to the old subject; and this was to be a businesstalk. It is quite useless, I assure you, to tell me I might have doneall sorts of things. I shall never do them now. But I may be able tohelp you in thinking out your plan. What is it?"

"You begin by telling me that it is useless for me to suggest anything, and then ask what I want to suggest. My plan requires your help inaction, not only in thinking out. "

"Let me hear it and then we will discuss. "

"Tell me first whether you have heard anything about schemes for arising in Venetia. "

"I have heard of nothing but schemes for risings and Sanfedist plotsever since the amnesty, and I fear I am as sceptical about the one asabout the other. "

"So am I, in most cases; but I am speaking of really seriouspreparations for a rising of the whole province against the Austrians. A good many young fellows in the Papal States--particularly in theFour Legations--are secretly preparing to get across there and join asvolunteers. And I hear from my friends in the Romagna----"

"Tell me, " she interrupted, "are you quite sure that these friends ofyours can be trusted?"

"Quite sure. I know them personally, and have worked with them. "

"That is, they are members of the 'sect' to which you belong? Forgivemy scepticism, but I am always a little doubtful as to the accuracyof information received from secret societies. It seems to me that thehabit----"

"Who told you I belonged to a 'sect'?" he interrupted sharply. 

"No one; I guessed it. "

"Ah!" He leaned back in his chair and looked at her, frowning. "Do youalways guess people's private affairs?" he said after a moment. 

"Very often. I am rather observant, and have a habit of putting thingstogether. I tell you that so that you may be careful when you don't wantme to know a thing. "

"I don't mind your knowing anything so long as it goes no further. Isuppose this has not----"

She lifted her head with a gesture of half-offended surprise. "Surelythat is an unnecessary question!" she said. 

"Of course I know you would not speak of anything to outsiders; but Ithought that perhaps, to the members of your party----"

"The party's business is with facts, not with my personal conjecturesand fancies. Of course I have never mentioned the subject to anyone. "

"Thank you. Do you happen to have guessed which sect I belong to?"

"I hope--you must not take offence at my frankness; it was you whostarted this talk, you know---- I do hope it is not the 'Knifers. '"

"Why do you hope that?"

"Because you are fit for better things. "

"We are all fit for better things than we ever do. There is your ownanswer back again. However, it is not the 'Knifers' that I belong to, but the 'Red Girdles. ' They are a steadier lot, and take their work moreseriously. "

"Do you mean the work of knifing?"

"That, among other things. Knives are very useful in their way; but onlywhen you have a good, organized propaganda behind them. That is what Idislike in the other sect. They think a knife can settle all the world'sdifficulties; and that's a mistake. It can settle a good many, but notall. "

"Do you honestly believe that it settles any?"

He looked at her in surprise. 

"Of course, " she went on, "it eliminates, for the moment, the practicaldifficulty caused by the presence of a clever spy or objectionableofficial; but whether it does not create worse difficulties in place ofthe one removed is another question. It seems to me like the parable ofthe swept and garnished house and the seven devils. Every assassinationonly makes the police more vicious and the people more accustomed toviolence and brutality, and the last state of the community may be worsethan the first. "

"What do you think will happen when the revolution comes? Do you supposethe people won't have to get accustomed to violence then? War is war. "

"Yes, but open revolution is another matter. It is one moment in thepeople's life, and it is the price we have to pay for all our progress. No doubt fearful things will happen; they must in every revolution. But they will be isolated facts--exceptional features of an exceptionalmoment. The horrible thing about this promiscuous knifing is thatit becomes a habit. The people get to look upon it as an every-dayoccurrence, and their sense of the sacredness of human life getsblunted. I have not been much in the Romagna, but what little I haveseen of the people has given me the impression that they have got, orare getting, into a mechanical habit of violence. "

"Surely even that is better than a mechanical habit of obedience andsubmission. "

"I don't think so. All mechanical habits are bad and slavish, and thisone is ferocious as well. Of course, if you look upon the work of therevolutionist as the mere wresting of certain definite concessions fromthe government, then the secret sect and the knife must seem to you thebest weapons, for there is nothing else which all governments so dread. But if you think, as I do, that to force the government's hand is not anend in itself, but only a means to an end, and that what we reallyneed to reform is the relation between man and man, then you must godifferently to work. Accustoming ignorant people to the sight of bloodis not the way to raise the value they put on human life. "

"And the value they put on religion?"

"I don't understand. "

He smiled. 

"I think we differ as to where the root of the mischief lies. You placeit in a lack of appreciation of the value of human life. "

"Rather of the sacredness of human personality. "

"Put it as you like. To me the great cause of our muddles and mistakesseems to lie in the mental disease called religion. "

"Do you mean any religion in particular?"

"Oh, no! That is a mere question of external symptoms. The diseaseitself is what is called a religious attitude of mind. It is themorbid desire to set up a fetich and adore it, to fall down and worshipsomething. It makes little difference whether the something be Jesus orBuddha or a tum-tum tree. You don't agree with me, of course. You may beatheist or agnostic or anything you like, but I could feel the religioustemperament in you at five yards. However, it is of no use for us todiscuss that. But you are quite mistaken in thinking that I, for one, look upon the knifing as merely a means of removing objectionableofficials--it is, above all, a means, and I think the best means, ofundermining the prestige of the Church and of accustoming people to lookupon clerical agents as upon any other vermin. "

"And when you have accomplished that; when you have roused the wildbeast that sleeps in the people and set it on the Church; then----"

"Then I shall have done the work that makes it worth my while to live. "

"Is THAT the work you spoke of the other day?"

"Yes, just that. "

She shivered and turned away. 

"You are disappointed in me?" he said, looking up with a smile. 

"No; not exactly that. I am--I think--a little afraid of you. "

She turned round after a moment and said in her ordinary business voice:

"This is an unprofitable discussion. Our standpoints are too different. For my part, I believe in propaganda, propaganda, and propaganda; andwhen you can get it, open insurrection. "

"Then let us come back to the question of my plan; it has something todo with propaganda and more with insurrection. "

"Yes?"

"As I tell you, a good many volunteers are going from the Romagna tojoin the Venetians. We do not know yet how soon the insurrection willbreak out. It may not be till the autumn or winter; but the volunteersin the Apennines must be armed and ready, so that they may be able tostart for the plains directly they are sent for. I have undertaken tosmuggle the firearms and ammunition on to Papal territory for them----"

"Wait a minute. How do you come to be working with that set? Therevolutionists in Lombardy and Venetia are all in favour of the newPope. They are going in for liberal reforms, hand in hand withthe progressive movement in the Church. How can a 'no-compromise'anti-clerical like you get on with them?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "What is it to me if they like to amusethemselves with a rag-doll, so long as they do their work? Of coursethey will take the Pope for a figurehead. What have I to do with that, if only the insurrection gets under way somehow? Any stick will doto beat a dog with, I suppose, and any cry to set the people on theAustrians. "

"What is it you want me to do?"

"Chiefly to help me get the firearms across. "

"But how could I do that?"

"You are just the person who could do it best. I think of buying thearms in England, and there is a good deal of difficulty about bringingthem over. It's impossible to get them through any of the Pontificalsea-ports; they must come by Tuscany, and go across the Apennines. "

"That makes two frontiers to cross instead of one. "

"Yes; but the other way is hopeless; you can't smuggle a big transportin at a harbour where there is no trade, and you know the whole shippingof Civita Vecchia amounts to about three row-boats and a fishingsmack. If we once get the things across Tuscany, I can manage the Papalfrontier; my men know every path in the mountains, and we have plenty ofhiding-places. The transport must come by sea to Leghorn, and that ismy great difficulty; I am not in with the smugglers there, and I believeyou are. "

"Give me five minutes to think. "

She leaned forward, resting one elbow on her knee, and supporting thechin on the raised hand. After a few moments' silence she looked up. 

"It is possible that I might be of some use in that part of the work, "she said; "but before we go any further, I want to ask you a question. Can you give me your word that this business is not connected with anystabbing or secret violence of any kind?"

"Certainly. It goes without saying that I should not have asked you tojoin in a thing of which I know you disapprove. "

"When do you want a definite answer from me?"

"There is not much time to lose; but I can give you a few days to decidein. "

"Are you free next Saturday evening?"

"Let me see--to-day is Thursday; yes. "

"Then come here. I will think the matter over and give you a finalanswer. "

 *****

On the following Sunday Gemma sent in to the committee of the Florentinebranch of the Mazzinian party a statement that she wished to undertake aspecial work of a political nature, which would for a few months preventher from performing the functions for which she had up till now beenresponsible to the party. 

Some surprise was felt at this announcement, but the committee raised noobjection; she had been known in the party for several years as a personwhose judgment might be trusted; and the members agreed that if SignoraBolla took an unexpected step, she probably had good reasons for it. 

To Martini she said frankly that she had undertaken to help the Gadflywith some "frontier work. " She had stipulated for the right to tell herold friend this much, in order that there might be no misunderstandingor painful sense of doubt and mystery between them. It seemed to herthat she owed him this proof of confidence. He made no comment when shetold him; but she saw, without knowing why, that the news had woundedhim deeply. 

They were sitting on the terrace of her lodging, looking out over thered roofs to Fiesole. After a long silence, Martini rose and begantramping up and down with his hands in his pockets, whistling tohimself--a sure sign with him of mental agitation. She sat looking athim for a little while. 

"Cesare, you are worried about this affair, " she said at last. "I amvery sorry you feel so despondent over it; but I could decide only asseemed right to me. "

"It is not the affair, " he answered, sullenly; "I know nothing aboutit, and it probably is all right, once you have consented to go into it. It's the MAN I distrust. "

"I think you misunderstand him; I did till I got to know him better. Heis far from perfect, but there is much more good in him than you think. "

"Very likely. " For a moment he tramped to and fro in silence, thensuddenly stopped beside her. 

"Gemma, give it up! Give it up before it is too late! Don't let that mandrag you into things you will repent afterwards. "

"Cesare, " she said gently, "you are not thinking what you are saying. No one is dragging me into anything. I have made this decision of myown will, after thinking the matter well over alone. You have a personaldislike to Rivarez, I know; but we are talking of politics now, not ofpersons. "

"Madonna! Give it up! That man is dangerous; he is secret, and cruel, and unscrupulous--and he is in love with you!"

She drew back. 

"Cesare, how can you get such fancies into your head?"

"He is in love with you, " Martini repeated. "Keep clear of him, Madonna!"

"Dear Cesare, I can't keep clear of him; and I can't explain to you why. We are tied together--not by any wish or doing of our own. "

"If you are tied, there is nothing more to say, " Martini answeredwearily. 

He went away, saying that he was busy, and tramped for hours up and downthe muddy streets. The world looked very black to him that evening. Onepoor ewe-lamb--and this slippery creature had stepped in and stolen itaway. 

CHAPTER X. 

TOWARDS the middle of February the Gadfly went to Leghorn. Gemma hadintroduced him to a young Englishman there, a shipping-agent of liberalviews, whom she and her husband had known in England. He had on severaloccasions performed little services for the Florentine radicals: hadlent money to meet an unforeseen emergency, had allowed his businessaddress to be used for the party's letters, etc. ; but always throughGemma's mediumship, and as a private friend of hers. She was, therefore, according to party etiquette, free to make use of the connexion in anyway that might seem good to her. Whether any use could be got out of itwas quite another question. To ask a friendly sympathizer to lend hisaddress for letters from Sicily or to keep a few documents in a cornerof his counting-house safe was one thing; to ask him to smuggle over atransport of firearms for an insurrection was another; and she had verylittle hope of his consenting. 

"You can but try, " she had said to the Gadfly; "but I don't thinkanything will come of it. If you were to go to him with thatrecommendation and ask for five hundred scudi, I dare say he'd give themto you at once--he's exceedingly generous, --and perhaps at a pinch hewould lend you his passport or hide a fugitive in his cellar; but if youmention such a thing as rifles he will stare at you and think we're bothdemented. "

"Perhaps he may give me a few hints, though, or introduce me to afriendly sailor or two, " the Gadfly had answered. "Anyway, it's worthwhile to try. "

One day at the end of the month he came into her study less carefullydressed than usual, and she saw at once from his face that he had goodnews to tell. 

"Ah, at last! I was beginning to think something must have happened toyou!"

"I thought it safer not to write, and I couldn't get back sooner. "

"You have just arrived?"

"Yes; I am straight from the diligence; I looked in to tell you that theaffair is all settled. "

"Do you mean that Bailey has really consented to help?"

"More than to help; he has undertaken the whole thing, --packing, transports, --everything. The rifles will be hidden in bales ofmerchandise and will come straight through from England. His partner, Williams, who is a great friend of his, has consented to see thetransport off from Southampton, and Bailey will slip it through thecustom house at Leghorn. That is why I have been such a long time;Williams was just starting for Southampton, and I went with him as faras Genoa. "

"To talk over details on the way?"

"Yes, as long as I wasn't too sea-sick to talk about anything. "

"Are you a bad sailor?" she asked quickly, remembering how Arthur hadsuffered from sea-sickness one day when her father had taken them bothfor a pleasure-trip. 

"About as bad as is possible, in spite of having been at sea so much. But we had a talk while they were loading at Genoa. You know Williams, I think? He's a thoroughly good fellow, trustworthy and sensible; so isBailey, for that matter; and they both know how to hold their tongues. "

"It seems to me, though, that Bailey is running a serious risk in doinga thing like this. "

"So I told him, and he only looked sulky and said: 'What business isthat of yours?' Just the sort of thing one would expect him to say. IfI met Bailey in Timbuctoo, I should go up to him and say: 'Good-morning, Englishman. '"

"But I can't conceive how you managed to get their consent; Williams, too; the last man I should have thought of. "

"Yes, he objected strongly at first; not on the ground of danger, though, but because the thing is 'so unbusiness-like. ' But I managed towin him over after a bit. And now we will go into details. "

 *****

When the Gadfly reached his lodgings the sun had set, and the blossomingpyrus japonica that hung over the garden wall looked dark in the fadinglight. He gathered a few sprays and carried them into the house. As heopened the study door, Zita started up from a chair in the corner andran towards him. 

"Oh, Felice; I thought you were never coming!"

His first impulse was to ask her sharply what business she had in hisstudy; but, remembering that he had not seen her for three weeks, heheld out his hand and said, rather frigidly:

"Good-evening, Zita; how are you?"

She put up her face to be kissed, but he moved past as though he hadnot seen the gesture, and took up a vase to put the pyrus in. The nextinstant the door was flung wide open, and the collie, rushing into theroom, performed an ecstatic dance round him, barking and whining withdelight. He put down the flowers and stooped to pat the dog. 

"Well, Shaitan, how are you, old man? Yes, it's really I. Shake hands, like a good dog!"

The hard, sullen look came into Zita's face. 

"Shall we go to dinner?" she asked coldly. "I ordered it for you at myplace, as you wrote that you were coming this evening. "

He turned round quickly. 

"I am v-v-very sorry; you sh-should not have waited for me! I will justget a bit tidy and come round at once. P-perhaps you would not mindputting these into water. "

When he came into Zita's dining room she was standing before a mirror, fastening one of the sprays into her dress. She had apparently made upher mind to be good-humoured, and came up to him with a little clusterof crimson buds tied together. 

"Here is a buttonhole for you; let me put it in your coat. "

All through dinner-time he did his best to be amiable, and kept up aflow of small-talk, to which she responded with radiant smiles. Herevident joy at his return somewhat embarrassed him; he had grown soaccustomed to the idea that she led her own life apart from his, amongsuch friends and companions as were congenial to her, that it had neveroccurred to him to imagine her as missing him. And yet she must havefelt dull to be so much excited now. 

"Let us have coffee up on the terrace, " she said; "it is quite warm thisevening. "

"Very well. Shall I take your guitar? Perhaps you will sing. "

She flushed with delight; he was critical about music and did not oftenask her to sing. 

On the terrace was a broad wooden bench running round the walls. TheGadfly chose a corner with a good view of the hills, and Zita, seatingherself on the low wall with her feet on the bench, leaned back againsta pillar of the roof. She did not care much for scenery; she preferredto look at the Gadfly. 

"Give me a cigarette, " she said. "I don't believe I have smoked oncesince you went away. "

"Happy thought! It's just s-s-smoke I want to complete my bliss. "

She leaned forward and looked at him earnestly. 

"Are you really happy?"

The Gadfly's mobile brows went up. 

"Yes; why not? I have had a good dinner; I am looking at one of them-most beautiful views in Europe; and now I'm going to have coffee andhear a Hungarian folk-song. There is nothing the matter with either myconscience or my digestion; what more can man desire?"

"I know another thing you desire. "

"What?"

"That!" She tossed a little cardboard box into his hand. 

"B-burnt almonds! Why d-didn't you tell me before I began to s-smoke?"he cried reproachfully. 

"Why, you baby! you can eat them when you have done smoking. There comesthe coffee. "

The Gadfly sipped his coffee and ate his burnt almonds with the graveand concentrated enjoyment of a cat drinking cream. 

"How nice it is to come back to d-decent coffee, after the s-s-stuff onegets at Leghorn!" he said in his purring drawl. 

"A very good reason for stopping at home now you are here. "

"Not much stopping for me; I'm off again to-morrow. "

The smile died on her face. 

"To-morrow! What for? Where are you going to?"

"Oh! two or three p-p-places, on business. "

It had been decided between him and Gemma that he must go in person intothe Apennines to make arrangements with the smugglers of the frontierregion about the transporting of the firearms. To cross the Papalfrontier was for him a matter of serious danger; but it had to be doneif the work was to succeed. 

"Always business!" Zita sighed under her breath; and then asked aloud:

"Shall you be gone long?"

"No; only a fortnight or three weeks, p-p-probably. "

"I suppose it's some of THAT business?" she asked abruptly. 

"'That' business?"

"The business you're always trying to get your neck broken over--theeverlasting politics. "

"It has something to do with p-p-politics. "

Zita threw away her cigarette. 

"You are fooling me, " she said. "You are going into some danger orother. "

"I'm going s-s-straight into the infernal regions, " he answeredlanguidly. "D-do you happen to have any friends there you want to sendthat ivy to? You n-needn't pull it all down, though. "

She had fiercely torn off a handful of the climber from the pillar, andnow flung it down with vehement anger. 

"You are going into danger, " she repeated; "and you won't even say sohonestly! Do you think I am fit for nothing but to be fooled and jokedwith? You will get yourself hanged one of these days, and never somuch as say good-bye. It's always politics and politics--I'm sick ofpolitics!"

"S-so am I, " said the Gadfly, yawning lazily; "and therefore we'll talkabout something else--unless you will sing. "

"Well, give me the guitar, then. What shall I sing?"

"The ballad of the lost horse; it suits your voice so well. "

She began to sing the old Hungarian ballad of the man who loses firsthis horse, then his home, and then his sweetheart, and consoles himselfwith the reflection that "more was lost at Mohacz field. " The song wasone of the Gadfly's especial favourites; its fierce and tragic melodyand the bitter stoicism of the refrain appealed to him as no softermusic ever did. 

Zita was in excellent voice; the notes came from her lips strong andclear, full of the vehement desire of life. She would have sung Italianor Slavonic music badly, and German still worse; but she sang the Magyarfolk-songs splendidly. 

The Gadfly listened with wide-open eyes and parted lips; he had neverheard her sing like this before. As she came to the last line, her voicebegan suddenly to shake. 

 "Ah, no matter! More was lost----"

She broke down with a sob and hid her face among the ivy leaves. 

"Zita!" The Gadfly rose and took the guitar from her hand. "What is it?"

She only sobbed convulsively, hiding her face in both hands. He touchedher on the arm. 

"Tell me what is the matter, " he said caressingly. 

"Let me alone!" she sobbed, shrinking away. "Let me alone!"

He went quietly back to his seat and waited till the sobs died away. Suddenly he felt her arms about his neck; she was kneeling on the floorbeside him. 

"Felice--don't go! Don't go away!"

"We will talk about that afterwards, " he said, gently extricatinghimself from the clinging arms. "Tell me first what has upset you so. Has anything been frightening you?"

She silently shook her head. 

"Have I done anything to hurt you?"

"No. " She put a hand up against his throat. 

"What, then?"

"You will get killed, " she whispered at last. "I heard one of those menthat come here say the other day that you will get into trouble--andwhen I ask you about it you laugh at me!"

"My dear child, " the Gadfly said, after a little pause of astonishment, "you have got some exaggerated notion into your head. Very likely Ishall get killed some day--that is the natural consequence of being arevolutionist. But there is no reason to suppose I am g-g-going to getkilled just now. I am running no more risk than other people. "

"Other people--what are other people to me? If you loved me you wouldn'tgo off this way and leave me to lie awake at night, wondering whetheryou're arrested, or dream you are dead whenever I go to sleep. You don'tcare as much for me as for that dog there!"

The Gadfly rose and walked slowly to the other end of the terrace. He was quite unprepared for such a scene as this and at a loss how toanswer her. Yes, Gemma was right; he had got his life into a tangle thathe would have hard work to undo. 

"Sit down and let us talk about it quietly, " he said, coming back aftera moment. "I think we have misunderstood each other; of course I shouldnot have laughed if I had thought you were serious. Try to tellme plainly what is troubling you; and then, if there is anymisunderstanding, we may be able to clear it up. "

"There's nothing to clear up. I can see you don't care a brass farthingfor me. "

"My dear child, we had better be quite frank with each other. I havealways tried to be honest about our relationship, and I think I havenever deceived you as to----"

"Oh, no! you have been honest enough; you have never even pretendedto think of me as anything else but a prostitute, --a trumpery bit ofsecond-hand finery that plenty of other men have had before you--"

"Hush, Zita! I have never thought that way about any living thing. "

"You have never loved me, " she insisted sullenly. 

"No, I have never loved you. Listen to me, and try to think as littleharm of me as you can. "

"Who said I thought any harm of you? I----"

"Wait a minute. This is what I want to say: I have no belief whatever inconventional moral codes, and no respect for them. To me the relationsbetween men and women are simply questions of personal likes anddislikes------"

"And of money, " she interrupted with a harsh little laugh. He winced andhesitated a moment. 

"That, of course, is the ugly part of the matter. But believe me, if Ihad thought that you disliked me, or felt any repulsion to the thing, I would never have suggested it, or taken advantage of your position topersuade you to it. I have never done that to any woman in my life, andI have never told a woman a lie about my feeling for her. You may trustme that I am speaking the truth----"

He paused a moment, but she did not answer. 

"I thought, " he went on; "that if a man is alone in the world and feelsthe need of--of a woman's presence about him, and if he can find a womanwho is attractive to him and to whom he is not repulsive, he has a rightto accept, in a grateful and friendly spirit, such pleasure as thatwoman is willing to give him, without entering into any closer bond. Isaw no harm in the thing, provided only there is no unfairness or insultor deceit on either side. As for your having been in that relation withother men before I met you, I did not think about that. I merely thoughtthat the connexion would be a pleasant and harmless one for both of us, and that either was free to break it as soon as it became irksome. If Iwas mistaken--if you have grown to look upon it differently--then----"

He paused again. 

"Then?" she whispered, without looking up. 

"Then I have done you a wrong, and I am very sorry. But I did not meanto do it. "

"You 'did not mean' and you 'thought'----Felice, are you made of castiron? Have you never been in love with a woman in your life that youcan't see I love you?"

A sudden thrill went through him; it was so long since anyone had saidto him: "I love you. " Instantly she started up and flung her arms roundhim. 

"Felice, come away with me! Come away from this dreadful country and allthese people and their politics! What have we got to do with them? Comeaway, and we will be happy together. Let us go to South America, whereyou used to live. "

The physical horror of association startled him back into self-control;he unclasped her hands from his neck and held them in a steady grasp. 

"Zita! Try to understand what I am saying to you. I do not love you; andif I did I would not come away with you. I have my work in Italy, and mycomrades----"

"And someone else that you love better than me!" she cried out fiercely. "Oh, I could kill you! It is not your comrades you care about; it's----I know who it is!"

"Hush!" he said quietly. "You are excited and imagining things that arenot true. "

"You suppose I am thinking of Signora Bolla? I'm not so easily duped!You only talk politics with her; you care no more for her than you dofor me. It's that Cardinal!"

The Gadfly started as if he had been shot. 

"Cardinal?" he repeated mechanically. 

"Cardinal Montanelli, that came here preaching in the autumn. Do youthink I didn't see your face when his carriage passed? You were as whiteas my pocket-handkerchief! Why, you're shaking like a leaf now because Imentioned his name!"

He stood up. 

"You don't know what you are talking about, " he said very slowly andsoftly. "I--hate the Cardinal. He is the worst enemy I have. "

"Enemy or no, you love him better than you love anyone else in theworld. Look me in the face and say that is not true, if you can!"

He turned away, and looked out into the garden. She watched himfurtively, half-scared at what she had done; there was somethingterrifying in his silence. At last she stole up to him, like afrightened child, and timidly pulled his sleeve. He turned round. 

"It is true, " he said. 

CHAPTER XI. 

"BUT c-c-can't I meet him somewhere in the hills? Brisighella is a riskyplace for me. "

"Every inch of ground in the Romagna is risky for you; but just at thismoment Brisighella is safer for you than any other place. "

"Why?"

"I'll tell you in a minute. Don't let that man with the blue jacketsee your face; he's dangerous. Yes; it was a terrible storm; I don'tremember to have seen the vines so bad for a long time. "

The Gadfly spread his arms on the table, and laid his face upon them, like a man overcome with fatigue or wine; and the dangerous new-comer inthe blue jacket, glancing swiftly round, saw only two farmers discussingtheir crops over a flask of wine and a sleepy mountaineer with his headon the table. It was the usual sort of thing to see in little placeslike Marradi; and the owner of the blue jacket apparently made up hismind that nothing could be gained by listening; for he drank his wine ata gulp and sauntered into the outer room. There he stood leaning on thecounter and gossiping lazily with the landlord, glancing every now andthen out of the corner of one eye through the open door, beyond whichsat the three figures at the table. The two farmers went on sippingtheir wine and discussing the weather in the local dialect, and theGadfly snored like a man whose conscience is sound. 

At last the spy seemed to make up his mind that there was nothing in thewine-shop worth further waste of his time. He paid his reckoning, and, lounging out of the house, sauntered away down the narrow street. TheGadfly, yawning and stretching, lifted himself up and sleepily rubbedthe sleeve of his linen blouse across his eyes. 

"Pretty sharp practice that, " he said, pulling a clasp-knife out of hispocket and cutting off a chunk from the rye-loaf on the table. "Havethey been worrying you much lately, Michele?"

"They've been worse than mosquitos in August. There's no getting aminute's peace; wherever one goes, there's always a spy hangingabout. Even right up in the hills, where they used to be so shy aboutventuring, they have taken to coming in bands of three or four--haven'tthey, Gino? That's why we arranged for you to meet Domenichino in thetown. "

"Yes; but why Brisighella? A frontier town is always full of spies. "

"Brisighella just now is a capital place. It's swarming with pilgrimsfrom all parts of the country. "

"But it's not on the way to anywhere. "

"It's not far out of the way to Rome, and many of the Easter Pilgrimsare going round to hear Mass there. "

"I d-d-didn't know there was anything special in Brisighella. "

"There's the Cardinal. Don't you remember his going to Florence topreach last December? It's that same Cardinal Montanelli. They say hemade a great sensation. "

"I dare say; I don't go to hear sermons. "

"Well, he has the reputation of being a saint, you see. "

"How does he manage that?"

"I don't know. I suppose it's because he gives away all his income, andlives like a parish priest with four or five hundred scudi a year. "

"Ah!" interposed the man called Gino; "but it's more than that. Hedoesn't only give away money; he spends his whole life in lookingafter the poor, and seeing the sick are properly treated, and hearingcomplaints and grievances from morning till night. I'm no fonder ofpriests than you are, Michele, but Monsignor Montanelli is not likeother Cardinals. "

"Oh, I dare say he's more fool than knave!" said Michele. "Anyhow, thepeople are mad after him, and the last new freak is for the pilgrims togo round that way to ask his blessing. Domenichino thought of going as apedlar, with a basket of cheap crosses and rosaries. The people like tobuy those things and ask the Cardinal to touch them; then they put themround their babies' necks to keep off the evil eye. "

"Wait a minute. How am I to go--as a pilgrim? This make-up suits mep-pretty well, I think; but it w-won't do for me to show myselfin Brisighella in the same character that I had here; it would beev-v-vidence against you if I get taken. "

"You won't get taken; we have a splendid disguise for you, with apassport and all complete. "

"What is it?"

"An old Spanish pilgrim--a repentant brigand from the Sierras. He fellill in Ancona last year, and one of our friends took him on board atrading-vessel out of charity, and set him down in Venice, where he hadfriends, and he left his papers with us to show his gratitude. They willjust do for you. "

"A repentant b-b-brigand? But w-what about the police?"

"Oh, that's all right! He finished his term of the galleys some yearsago, and has been going about to Jerusalem and all sorts of placessaving his soul ever since. He killed his son by mistake for somebodyelse, and gave himself up to the police in a fit of remorse. "

"Was he quite old?"

"Yes; but a white beard and wig will set that right, and the descriptionsuits you to perfection in every other respect. He was an old soldier, with a lame foot and a sabre-cut across the face like yours; and thenhis being a Spaniard, too--you see, if you meet any Spanish pilgrims, you can talk to them all right. "

"Where am I to meet Domenichino?"

"You join the pilgrims at the cross-road that we will show you on themap, saying you had lost your way in the hills. Then, when you reach thetown, you go with the rest of them into the marketplace, in front of theCardinal's palace. "

"Oh, he manages to live in a p-palace, then, in s-spite of being asaint?"

"He lives in one wing of it, and has turned the rest into a hospital. Well, you all wait there for him to come out and give his benediction, and Domenichino will come up with his basket and say: 'Are you one ofthe pilgrims, father?' and you answer: 'I am a miserable sinner. ' Thenhe puts down his basket and wipes his face with his sleeve, and youoffer him six soldi for a rosary. "

"Then, of course, he arranges where we can talk?"

"Yes; he will have plenty of time to give you the address of themeeting-place while the people are gaping at Montanelli. That was ourplan; but if you don't like it, we can let Domenichino know and arrangesomething else. "

"No; it will do; only see that the beard and wig look natural. "

 *****

"Are you one of the pilgrims, father?"

The Gadfly, sitting on the steps of the episcopal palace, looked upfrom under his ragged white locks, and gave the password in a husky, trembling voice, with a strong foreign accent. Domenichino slippedthe leather strap from his shoulder, and set down his basket of piousgewgaws on the step. The crowd of peasants and pilgrims sitting on thesteps and lounging about the market-place was taking no notice ofthem, but for precaution's sake they kept up a desultory conversation, Domenichino speaking in the local dialect and the Gadfly in brokenItalian, intermixed with Spanish words. 

"His Eminence! His Eminence is coming out!" shouted the people by thedoor. "Stand aside! His Eminence is coming!"

They both stood up. 

"Here, father, " said Domenichino, putting into the Gadfly's hand alittle image wrapped in paper; "take this, too, and pray for me when youget to Rome. "

The Gadfly thrust it into his breast, and turned to look at the figurein the violet Lenten robe and scarlet cap that was standing on the upperstep and blessing the people with outstretched arms. 

Montanelli came slowly down the steps, the people crowding about him tokiss his hands. Many knelt down and put the hem of his cassock to theirlips as he passed. 

"Peace be with you, my children!"

At the sound of the clear, silvery voice, the Gadfly bent his head, sothat the white hair fell across his face; and Domenichino, seeing thequivering of the pilgrim's staff in his hand, said to himself withadmiration: "What an actor!"

A woman standing near to them stooped down and lifted her child from thestep. "Come, Cecco, " she said. "His Eminence will bless you as the dearLord blessed the children. "

The Gadfly moved a step forward and stopped. Oh, it was hard! All theseoutsiders--these pilgrims and mountaineers--could go up and speak tohim, and he would lay his hand on their children's hair. Perhaps hewould say "Carino" to that peasant boy, as he used to say----

The Gadfly sank down again on the step, turning away that he might notsee. If only he could shrink into some corner and stop his ears to shutout the sound! Indeed, it was more than any man should have to bear--tobe so close, so close that he could have put out his arm and touched thedear hand. 

"Will you not come under shelter, my friend?" the soft voice said. "I amafraid you are chilled. "

The Gadfly's heart stood still. For a moment he was conscious of nothingbut the sickening pressure of the blood that seemed as if it would tearhis breast asunder; then it rushed back, tingling and burning throughall his body, and he looked up. The grave, deep eyes above him grewsuddenly tender with divine compassion at the sight of his face. 

"Stand bark a little, friends, " Montanelli said, turning to the crowd;"I want to speak to him. "

The people fell slowly back, whispering to each other, and the Gadfly, sitting motionless, with teeth clenched and eyes on the ground, felt thegentle touch of Montanelli's hand upon his shoulder. 

"You have had some great trouble. Can I do anything to help you?"

The Gadfly shook his head in silence. 

"Are you a pilgrim?"

"I am a miserable sinner. "

The accidental similarity of Montanelli's question to the password camelike a chance straw, that the Gadfly, in his desperation, caught at, answering automatically. He had begun to tremble under the soft pressureof the hand that seemed to burn upon his shoulder. 

The Cardinal bent down closer to him. 

"Perhaps you would care to speak to me alone? If I can be any help toyou----"

For the first time the Gadfly looked straight and steadily intoMontanelli's eyes; he was already recovering his self-command. 

"It would be no use, " he said; "the thing is hopeless. "

A police official stepped forward out of the crowd. 

"Forgive my intruding, Your Eminence. I think the old man is not quitesound in his mind. He is perfectly harmless, and his papers are inorder, so we don't interfere with him. He has been in penal servitudefor a great crime, and is now doing penance. "

"A great crime, " the Gadfly repeated, shaking his head slowly. 

"Thank you, captain; stand aside a little, please. My friend, nothing ishopeless if a man has sincerely repented. Will you not come to me thisevening?"

"Would Your Eminence receive a man who is guilty of the death of his ownson?"

The question had almost the tone of a challenge, and Montanelli shrankand shivered under it as under a cold wind. 

"God forbid that I should condemn you, whatever you have done!" he saidsolemnly. "In His sight we are all guilty alike, and our righteousnessis as filthy rags. If you will come to me I will receive you as I praythat He may one day receive me. "

The Gadfly stretched out his hands with a sudden gesture of passion. 

"Listen!" he said; "and listen all of you, Christians! If a man haskilled his only son--his son who loved and trusted him, who was flesh ofhis flesh and bone of his bone; if he has led his son into a death-trapwith lies and deceit--is there hope for that man in earth or heaven?I have confessed my sin before God and man, and I have suffered thepunishment that men have laid on me, and they have let me go; but whenwill God say, 'It is enough'? What benediction will take away His cursefrom my soul? What absolution will undo this thing that I have done?"

In the dead silence that followed the people looked at Montanelli, andsaw the heaving of the cross upon his breast. 

He raised his eyes at last, and gave the benediction with a hand thatwas not quite steady. 

"God is merciful, " he said. "Lay your burden before His throne; for itis written: 'A broken and contrite heart shalt thou not despise. '"

He turned away and walked through the market-place, stopping everywhereto speak to the people, and to take their children in his arms. 

In the evening the Gadfly, following the directions written on thewrapping of the image, made his way to the appointed meeting-place. Itwas the house of a local doctor, who was an active member of the "sect. "Most of the conspirators were already assembled, and their delight atthe Gadfly's arrival gave him a new proof, if he had needed one, of hispopularity as a leader. 

"We're glad enough to see you again, " said the doctor; "but we shall begladder still to see you go. It's a fearfully risky business, and I, forone, was against the plan. Are you quite sure none of those police ratsnoticed you in the market-place this morning?"

"Oh, they n-noticed me enough, but they d-didn't recognize me. Domenichino m-managed the thing capitally. But where is he? I don't seehim. "

"He has not come yet. So you got on all smoothly? Did the Cardinal giveyou his blessing?"

"His blessing? Oh, that's nothing, " said Domenichino, coming in at thedoor. "Rivarez, you're as full of surprises as a Christmas cake. Howmany more talents are you going to astonish us with?"

"What is it now?" asked the Gadfly languidly. He was leaning back on asofa, smoking a cigar. He still wore his pilgrim's dress, but the whitebeard and wig lay beside him. 

"I had no idea you were such an actor. I never saw a thing done somagnificently in my life. You nearly moved His Eminence to tears. "

"How was that? Let us hear, Rivarez. "

The Gadfly shrugged his shoulders. He was in a taciturn and laconicmood, and the others, seeing that nothing was to be got out of him, appealed to Domenichino to explain. When the scene in the market-placehad been related, one young workman, who had not joined in the laughterof the rest, remarked abruptly:

"It was very clever, of course; but I don't see what good all thisplay-acting business has done to anybody. "

"Just this much, " the Gadfly put in; "that I can go where I like and dowhat I like anywhere in this district, and not a single man, woman, orchild will ever think of suspecting me. The story will be all over theplace by to-morrow, and when I meet a spy he will only think: 'It'smad Diego, that confessed his sins in the market-place. ' That is anadvantage gained, surely. "

"Yes, I see. Still, I wish the thing could have been done withoutfooling the Cardinal. He's too good to have that sort of trick played onhim. "

"I thought myself he seemed fairly decent, " the Gadfly lazily assented. 

"Nonsense, Sandro! We don't want Cardinals here!" said Domenichino. "And if Monsignor Montanelli had taken that post in Rome when he had thechance of getting it, Rivarez couldn't have fooled him. "

"He wouldn't take it because he didn't want to leave his work here. "

"More likely because he didn't want to get poisoned off byLambruschini's agents. They've got something against him, you may dependupon it. When a Cardinal, especially such a popular one, 'prefers tostay' in a God-forsaken little hole like this, we all know what thatmeans--don't we, Rivarez?"

The Gadfly was making smoke-rings. "Perhaps it is a c-c-case of a'b-b-broken and contrite heart, '" he remarked, leaning his head back towatch them float away. "And now, men, let us get to business. "

They began to discuss in detail the various plans which had been formedfor the smuggling and concealment of weapons. The Gadfly listened withkeen attention, interrupting every now and then to correct sharply someinaccurate statement or imprudent proposal. When everyone had finishedspeaking, he made a few practical suggestions, most of which wereadopted without discussion. The meeting then broke up. It had beenresolved that, at least until he was safely back in Tuscany, verylate meetings, which might attract the notice of the police, shouldbe avoided. By a little after ten o'clock all had dispersed except thedoctor, the Gadfly, and Domenichino, who remained as a sub-committeefor the discussion of special points. After a long and hot dispute, Domenichino looked up at the clock. 

"Half-past eleven; we mustn't stop any longer or the night-watchman maysee us. "

"When does he pass?" asked the Gadfly. 

"About twelve o'clock; and I want to be home before he comes. Good-night, Giordani. Rivarez, shall we walk together?"

"No; I think we are safer apart. Then I shall see you again?"

"Yes; at Castel Bolognese. I don't know yet what disguise I shall be in, but you have the password. You leave here to-morrow, I think?"

The Gadfly was carefully putting on his beard and wig before thelooking-glass. 

"To-morrow morning, with the pilgrims. On the next day I fall ill andstop behind in a shepherd's hut, and then take a short cut across thehills. I shall be down there before you will. Good-night!"

Twelve o'clock was striking from the Cathedral bell-tower as the Gadflylooked in at the door of the great empty barn which had been thrownopen as a lodging for the pilgrims. The floor was covered withclumsy figures, most of which were snoring lustily, and the air wasinsufferably close and foul. He drew back with a little shudder ofrepugnance; it would be useless to attempt to sleep in there; he wouldtake a walk, and then find some shed or haystack which would, at least, be clean and quiet. 

It was a glorious night, with a great full moon gleaming in a purplesky. He began to wander through the streets in an aimless way, broodingmiserably over the scene of the morning, and wishing that he had neverconsented to Domenichino's plan of holding the meeting in Brisighella. If at the beginning he had declared the project too dangerous, someother place would have been chosen; and both he and Montanelli wouldhave been spared this ghastly, ridiculous farce. 

How changed the Padre was! And yet his voice was not changed at all; itwas just the same as in the old days, when he used to say: "Carino. "

The lantern of the night-watchman appeared at the other end of thestreet, and the Gadfly turned down a narrow, crooked alley. Afterwalking a few yards he found himself in the Cathedral Square, closeto the left wing of the episcopal palace. The square was flooded withmoonlight, and there was no one in sight; but he noticed that a sidedoor of the Cathedral was ajar. The sacristan must have forgotten toshut it. Surely nothing could be going on there so late at night. Hemight as well go in and sleep on one of the benches instead of in thestifling barn; he could slip out in the morning before the sacristancame; and even if anyone did find him, the natural supposition would bethat mad Diego had been saying his prayers in some corner, and had gotshut in. 

He listened a moment at the door, and then entered with the noiselessstep that he had retained notwithstanding his lameness. The moonlightstreamed through the windows, and lay in broad bands on the marblefloor. In the chancel, especially, everything was as clearly visible asby daylight. At the foot of the altar steps Cardinal Montanelli kneltalone, bare-headed, with clasped hands. 

The Gadfly drew back into the shadow. Should he slip away beforeMontanelli saw him? That, no doubt, would be the wisest thing todo--perhaps the most merciful. And yet, what harm could it do for him togo just a little nearer--to look at the Padre's face once more, now thatthe crowd was gone, and there was no need to keep up the hideous comedyof the morning? Perhaps it would be his last chance--and the Padre neednot see him; he would steal up softly and look--just this once. Then hewould go back to his work. 

Keeping in the shadow of the pillars, he crept softly up to the chancelrails, and paused at the side entrance, close to the altar. The shadowof the episcopal throne was broad enough to cover him, and he croucheddown in the darkness, holding his breath. 

"My poor boy! Oh, God; my poor boy!"

The broken whisper was full of such endless despair that the Gadflyshuddered in spite of himself. Then came deep, heavy, tearless sobs; andhe saw Montanelli wring his hands together like a man in bodily pain. 

He had not thought it would be so bad as this. How often had he said tohimself with bitter assurance: "I need not trouble about it; that woundwas healed long ago. " Now, after all these years, it was laid barebefore him, and he saw it bleeding still. And how easy it would be toheal it now at last! He need only lift his hand--only step forward andsay: "Padre, it is I. " There was Gemma, too, with that white streakacross her hair. Oh, if he could but forgive! If he could but cut outfrom his memory the past that was burned into it so deep--the Lascar, and the sugar-plantation, and the variety show! Surely there was noother misery like this--to be willing to forgive, to long to forgive;and to know that it was hopeless--that he could not, dared not forgive. 

Montanelli rose at last, made the sign of the cross, and turnedaway from the altar. The Gadfly shrank further back into the shadow, trembling with fear lest he should be seen, lest the very beating ofhis heart should betray him; then he drew a long breath of relief. Montanelli had passed him, so close that the violet robe had brushedagainst his cheek, --had passed and had not seen him. 

Had not seen him---- Oh, what had he done? This had been his lastchance--this one precious moment--and he had let it slip away. Hestarted up and stepped into the light. 

"Padre!"

The sound of his own voice, ringing up and dying away along the archesof the roof, filled him with fantastic terror. He shrank back again intothe shadow. Montanelli stood beside the pillar, motionless, listeningwith wide-open eyes, full of the horror of death. How long the silencelasted the Gadfly could not tell; it might have been an instant, oran eternity. He came to his senses with a sudden shock. Montanelli wasbeginning to sway as though he would fall, and his lips moved, at firstsilently. 

"Arthur!" the low whisper came at last; "yes, the water is deep----"

The Gadfly came forward. 

"Forgive me, Your Eminence! I thought it was one of the priests. "

"Ah, it is the pilgrim?" Montanelli had at once recovered hisself-control, though the Gadfly could see, from the restless glitter ofthe sapphire on his hand, that he was still trembling. "Are you inneed of anything, my friend? It is late, and the Cathedral is closed atnight. "

"I beg pardon, Your Eminence, if I have done wrong. I saw the dooropen, and came in to pray, and when I saw a priest, as I thought, inmeditation, I waited to ask a blessing on this. "

He held up the little tin cross that he had bought from Domenichino. Montanelli took it from his hand, and, re-entering the chancel, laid itfor a moment on the altar. 

"Take it, my son, " he said, "and be at rest, for the Lord is tenderand pitiful. Go to Rome, and ask the blessing of His minister, the HolyFather. Peace be with you!"

The Gadfly bent his head to receive the benediction, and turned slowlyaway. 

"Stop!" said Montanelli. 

He was standing with one hand on the chancel rail. 

"When you receive the Holy Eucharist in Rome, " he said, "pray for one indeep affliction--for one on whose soul the hand of the Lord is heavy. "

There were almost tears in his voice, and the Gadfly's resolutionwavered. Another instant and he would have betrayed himself. Then thethought of the variety-show came up again, and he remembered, likeJonah, that he did well to be angry. 

"Who am I, that He should hear my prayers? A leper and an outcast! If Icould bring to His throne, as Your Eminence can, the offering of a holylife--of a soul without spot or secret shame------"

Montanelli turned abruptly away. 

"I have only one offering to give, " he said; "a broken heart. "

 *****

A few days later the Gadfly returned to Florence in the diligence fromPistoja. He went straight to Gemma's lodgings, but she was out. Leavinga message that he would return in the morning he went home, sincerelyhoping that he should not again find his study invaded by Zita. Herjealous reproaches would act on his nerves, if he were to hear much ofthem to-night, like the rasping of a dentist's file. 

"Good-evening, Bianca, " he said when the maid-servant opened the door. "Has Mme. Reni been here to-day?"

She stared at him blankly

"Mme. Reni? Has she come back, then, sir?"

"What do you mean?" he asked with a frown, stopping short on the mat. 

"She went away quite suddenly, just after you did, and left all herthings behind her. She never so much as said she was going. "

"Just after I did? What, a f-fortnight ago?"

"Yes, sir, the same day; and her things are lying abouthiggledy-piggledy. All the neighbours are talking about it. "

He turned away from the door-step without speaking, and went hastilydown the lane to the house where Zita had been lodging. In her roomsnothing had been touched; all the presents that he had given her were intheir usual places; there was no letter or scrap of writing anywhere. 

"If you please, sir, " said Bianca, putting her head in at the door, "there's an old woman----"

He turned round fiercely. 

"What do you want here--following me about?"

"An old woman wishes to see you. "

"What does she want? Tell her I c-can't see her; I'm busy. "

"She has been coming nearly every evening since you went away, sir, always asking when you would come back. "

"Ask her w-what her business is. No; never mind; I suppose I must gomyself. "

The old woman was waiting at his hall door. She was very poorly dressed, with a face as brown and wrinkled as a medlar, and a bright-colouredscarf twisted round her head. As he came in she rose and looked at himwith keen black eyes. 

"You are the lame gentleman, " she said, inspecting him critically fromhead to foot. "I have brought you a message from Zita Reni. "

He opened the study door, and held it for her to pass in; then followedher and shut the door, that Bianca might not hear. 

"Sit down, please. N-now, tell me who you are. "

"It's no business of yours who I am. I have come to tell you that ZitaReni has gone away with my son. "

"With--your--son?"

"Yes, sir; if you don't know how to keep your mistress when you've gother, you can't complain if other men take her. My son has blood in hisveins, not milk and water; he comes of the Romany folk. "

"Ah, you are a gipsy! Zita has gone back to her own people, then?"

She looked at him in amazed contempt. Apparently, these Christians hadnot even manhood enough to be angry when they were insulted. 

"What sort of stuff are you made of, that she should stay with you? Ourwomen may lend themselves to you a bit for a girl's fancy, or if you paythem well; but the Romany blood comes back to the Romany folk. "

The Gadfly's face remained as cold and steady as before. 

"Has she gone away with a gipsy camp, or merely to live with your son?"

The woman burst out laughing. 

"Do you think of following her and trying to win her back? It's toolate, sir; you should have thought of that before!"

"No; I only want to know the truth, if you will tell it to me. "

She shrugged her shoulders; it was hardly worth while to abuse a personwho took it so meekly. 

"The truth, then, is that she met my son in the road the day you lefther, and spoke to him in the Romany tongue; and when he saw she wasone of our folk, in spite of her fine clothes, he fell in love with herbonny face, as OUR men fall in love, and took her to our camp. She toldus all her trouble, and sat crying and sobbing, poor lassie, till ourhearts were sore for her. We comforted her as best we could; and at lastshe took off her fine clothes and put on the things our lasses wear, andgave herself to my son, to be his woman and to have him for her man. Hewon't say to her: 'I don't love you, ' and: 'I've other things to do. 'When a woman is young, she wants a man; and what sort of man are you, that you can't even kiss a handsome girl when she puts her arms roundyour neck?"

"You said, " he interrupted, "that you had brought me a message fromher. "

"Yes; I stopped behind when the camp went on, so as to give it. She toldme to say that she has had enough of your folk and their hair-splittingand their sluggish blood; and that she wants to get back to her ownpeople and be free. 'Tell him, ' she said, 'that I am a woman, and thatI loved him; and that is why I would not be his harlot any longer. ' Thelassie was right to come away. There's no harm in a girl getting a bitof money out of her good looks if she can--that's what good looks arefor; but a Romany lass has nothing to do with LOVING a man of yourrace. "

The Gadfly stood up. 

"Is that all the message?" he said. "Then tell her, please, that I thinkshe has done right, and that I hope she will be happy. That is all Ihave to say. Good-night!"

He stood perfectly still until the garden gate closed behind her; thenhe sat down and covered his face with both hands. 

Another blow on the cheek! Was no rag of pride to be left him--no shredof self-respect? Surely he had suffered everything that man can endure;his very heart had been dragged in the mud and trampled under thefeet of the passers-by; there was no spot in his soul where someone'scontempt was not branded in, where someone's mockery had not leftits iron trace. And now this gipsy girl, whom he had picked up by thewayside--even she had the whip in her hand. 

Shaitan whined at the door, and the Gadfly rose to let him in. Thedog rushed up to his master with his usual frantic manifestations ofdelight, but soon, understanding that something was wrong, lay down onthe rug beside him, and thrust a cold nose into the listless hand. 

An hour later Gemma came up to the front door. No one appeared in answerto her knock; Bianca, finding that the Gadfly did not want any dinner, had slipped out to visit a neighbour's cook. She had left the door open, and a light burning in the hall. Gemma, after waiting for some time, decided to enter and try if she could find the Gadfly, as she wished tospeak to him about an important message which had come from Bailey. Sheknocked at the study door, and the Gadfly's voice answered from within:"You can go away, Bianca. I don't want anything. "

She softly opened the door. The room was quite dark, but the passagelamp threw a long stream of light across it as she entered, and shesaw the Gadfly sitting alone, his head sunk on his breast, and the dogasleep at his feet. 

"It is I, " she said. 

He started up. "Gemma, ---- Gemma! Oh, I have wanted you so!"

Before she could speak he was kneeling on the floor at her feet andhiding his face in the folds of her dress. His whole body was shakenwith a convulsive tremor that was worse to see than tears. 

She stood still. There was nothing she could do to help him--nothing. This was the bitterest thing of all. She must stand by and look onpassively--she who would have died to spare him pain. Could she but dareto stoop and clasp her arms about him, to hold him close against herheart and shield him, were it with her own body, from all further harmor wrong; surely then he would be Arthur to her again; surely then theday would break and the shadows flee away. 

Ah, no, no! How could he ever forget? Was it not she who had cast himinto hell--she, with her own right hand?

She had let the moment slip by. He rose hastily and sat down by thetable, covering his eyes with one hand and biting his lip as if he wouldbite it through. 

Presently he looked up and said quietly:

"I am afraid I startled you. "

She held out both her hands to him. "Dear, " she said, "are we notfriends enough by now for you to trust me a little bit? What is it?"

"Only a private trouble of my own. I don't see why you should be worriedover it. "

"Listen a moment, " she went on, taking his hand in both of hers tosteady its convulsive trembling. "I have not tried to lay hands on athing that is not mine to touch. But now that you have given me, of yourown free will, so much of your confidence, will you not give me a littlemore--as you would do if I were your sister. Keep the mask on your face, if it is any consolation to you, but don't wear a mask on your soul, foryour own sake. "

He bent his head lower. "You must be patient with me, " he said. "I aman unsatisfactory sort of brother to have, I'm afraid; but if you onlyknew---- I have been nearly mad this last week. It has been like SouthAmerica again. And somehow the devil gets into me and----" He broke off. 

"May I not have my share in your trouble?" she whispered at last. 

His head sank down on her arm. "The hand of the Lord is heavy. "

PART III. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE next five weeks were spent by Gemma and the Gadfly in a whirlof excitement and overwork which left them little time or energy forthinking about their personal affairs. When the arms had been safelysmuggled into Papal territory there remained a still more difficult anddangerous task: that of conveying them unobserved from the secret storesin the mountain caverns and ravines to the various local centres andthence to the separate villages. The whole district was swarming withspies; and Domenichino, to whom the Gadfly had intrusted the ammunition, sent into Florence a messenger with an urgent appeal for either help orextra time. The Gadfly had insisted that the work should be finishedby the middle of June; and what with the difficulty of conveying heavytransports over bad roads, and the endless hindrances and delays causedby the necessity of continually evading observation, Domenichino wasgrowing desperate. "I am between Scylla and Charybdis, " he wrote. "Idare not work quickly, for fear of detection, and I must not work slowlyif we are to be ready in time. Either send me efficient help at once, orlet the Venetians know that we shall not be ready till the first week inJuly. "

The Gadfly carried the letter to Gemma and, while she read it, satfrowning at the floor and stroking the cat's fur the wrong way. 

"This is bad, " she said. "We can hardly keep the Venetians waiting forthree weeks. "

"Of course we can't; the thing is absurd. Domenichino m-mightunders-s-stand that. We must follow the lead of the Venetians, not theyours. "

"I don't see that Domenichino is to blame; he has evidently done hisbest, and he can't do impossibilities. "

"It's not in Domenichino that the fault lies; it's in the fact ofhis being one person instead of two. We ought to have at least oneresponsible man to guard the store and another to see the transportsoff. He is quite right; he must have efficient help. "

"But what help are we going to give him? We have no one in Florence tosend. "

"Then I m-must go myself. "

She leaned back in her chair and looked at him with a little frown. 

"No, that won't do; it's too risky. "

"It will have to do if we can't f-f-find any other way out of thedifficulty. "

"Then we must find another way, that's all. It's out of the question foryou to go again just now. "

An obstinate line appeared at the corners of his under lip. 

"I d-don't see that it's out of the question. "

"You will see if you think about the thing calmly for a minute. It isonly five weeks since you got back; the police are on the scent aboutthat pilgrim business, and scouring the country to find a clue. Yes, Iknow you are clever at disguises; but remember what a lot of people sawyou, both as Diego and as the countryman; and you can't disguise yourlameness or the scar on your face. "

"There are p-plenty of lame people in the world. "

"Yes, but there are not plenty of people in the Romagna with a lame footand a sabre-cut across the cheek and a left arm injured like yours, andthe combination of blue eyes with such dark colouring. "

"The eyes don't matter; I can alter them with belladonna. "

"You can't alter the other things. No, it won't do. For you to go therejust now, with all your identification-marks, would be to walk into atrap with your eyes open. You would certainly be taken. "

"But s-s-someone must help Domenichino. "

"It will be no help to him to have you caught at a critical moment likethis. Your arrest would mean the failure of the whole thing. "

But the Gadfly was difficult to convince, and the discussion went onand on without coming nearer to any settlement. Gemma was beginning torealize how nearly inexhaustible was the fund of quiet obstinacy inhis character; and, had the matter not been one about which she feltstrongly, she would probably have yielded for the sake of peace. This, however, was a case in which she could not conscientiously give way; thepractical advantage to be gained from the proposed journey seemed to hernot sufficiently important to be worth the risk, and she could not helpsuspecting that his desire to go was prompted less by a conviction ofgrave political necessity than by a morbid craving for the excitement ofdanger. He had got into the habit of risking his neck, and his tendencyto run into unnecessary peril seemed to her a form of intemperancewhich should be quietly but steadily resisted. Finding all her argumentsunavailing against his dogged resolve to go his own way, she fired herlast shot. 

"Let us be honest about it, anyway, " she said; "and call things bytheir true names. It is not Domenichino's difficulty that makes you sodetermined to go. It is your own personal passion for----"

"It's not true!" he interrupted vehemently. "He is nothing to me; Idon't care if I never see him again. "

He broke off, seeing in her face that he had betrayed himself. Theireyes met for an instant, and dropped; and neither of them uttered thename that was in both their minds. 

"It--it is not Domenichino I want to save, " he stammered at last, withhis face half buried in the cat's fur; "it is that I--I understand thedanger of the work failing if he has no help. "

She passed over the feeble little subterfuge, and went on as if therehad been no interruption:

"It is your passion for running into danger which makes you want to gothere. You have the same craving for danger when you are worried thatyou had for opium when you were ill. "

"It was not I that asked for the opium, " he said defiantly; "it was theothers who insisted on giving it to me. "

"I dare say. You plume yourself a little on your stoicism, and toask for physical relief would have hurt your pride; but it is ratherflattered than otherwise when you risk your life to relieve theirritation of your nerves. And yet, after all, the distinction is amerely conventional one. "

He drew the cat's head back and looked down into the round, green eyes. "Is it true, Pasht?" he said. "Are all these unkind things true thatyour mistress is s-saying about me? Is it a case of mea culpa; meam-maxima culpa? You wise beast, you never ask for opium, do you? Yourancestors were gods in Egypt, and no man t-trod on their tails. Iwonder, though, what would become of your calm superiority to earthlyills if I were to take this paw of yours and hold it in the c-candle. Would you ask me for opium then? Would you? Or perhaps--for death? No, pussy, we have no right to die for our personal convenience. We may spitand s-swear a bit, if it consoles us; but we mustn't pull the paw away. "

"Hush!" She took the cat off his knee and put it down on a footstool. "You and I will have time for thinking about those things later on. Whatwe have to think of now is how to get Domenichino out of his difficulty. What is it, Katie; a visitor? I am busy. "

"Miss Wright has sent you this, ma'am, by hand. "

The packet, which was carefully sealed, contained a letter, addressedto Miss Wright, but unopened and with a Papal stamp. Gemma's old schoolfriends still lived in Florence, and her more important letters wereoften received, for safety, at their address. 

"It is Michele's mark, " she said, glancing quickly over the letter, which seemed to be about the summer-terms at a boarding house in theApennines, and pointing to two little blots on a corner of the page. "It is in chemical ink; the reagent is in the third drawer of thewriting-table. Yes; that is it. "

He laid the letter open on the desk and passed a little brush over itspages. When the real message stood out on the paper in a brilliant blueline, he leaned back in his chair and burst out laughing. 

"What is it?" she asked hurriedly. He handed her the paper. 

"DOMENICHINO HAS BEEN ARRESTED. COME AT ONCE. "

She sat down with the paper in her hand and stared hopelessly at theGadfly. 

"W-well?" he said at last, with his soft, ironical drawl; "are yousatisfied now that I must go?"

"Yes, I suppose you must, " she answered, sighing. "And I too. "

He looked up with a little start. "You too? But----"

"Of course. It will be very awkward, I know, to be left without anyonehere in Florence; but everything must go to the wall now except theproviding of an extra pair of hands. "

"There are plenty of hands to be got there. "

"They don't belong to people whom you can trust thoroughly, though. Yousaid yourself just now that there must be two responsible personsin charge; and if Domenichino couldn't manage alone it is evidentlyimpossible for you to do so. A person as desperately compromised as youare is very much handicapped, remember, in work of that kind, andmore dependent on help than anyone else would be. Instead of you andDomenichino, it must be you and I. "

He considered for a moment, frowning. 

"Yes, you are quite right, " he said; "and the sooner we go the better. But we must not start together. If I go off to-night, you can take, say, the afternoon coach to-morrow. "

"Where to?"

"That we must discuss. I think I had b-b-better go straight in toFaenza. If I start late to-night and ride to Borgo San Lorenzo I can getmy disguise arranged there and go straight on. "

"I don't see what else we can do, " she said, with an anxious littlefrown; "but it is very risky, your going off in such a hurry andtrusting to the smugglers finding you a disguise at Borgo. You ought tohave at least three clear days to double on your trace before you crossthe frontier. "

"You needn't be afraid, " he answered, smiling; "I may get taken furtheron, but not at the frontier. Once in the hills I am as safe as here;there's not a smuggler in the Apennines that would betray me. What I amnot quite sure about is how you are to get across. "

"Oh, that is very simple! I shall take Louisa Wright's passport and gofor a holiday. No one knows me in the Romagna, but every spy knows you. "

"F-fortunately, so does every smuggler. "

She took out her watch. 

"Half-past two. We have the afternoon and evening, then, if you are tostart to-night. "

"Then the best thing will be for me to go home and settle everythingnow, and arrange about a good horse. I shall ride in to San Lorenzo; itwill be safer. "

"But it won't be safe at all to hire a horse. The owner will-----"

"I shan't hire one. I know a man that will lend me a horse, and that canbe trusted. He has done things for me before. One of the shepherdswill bring it back in a fortnight. I shall be here again by five orhalf-past, then; and while I am gone, I w-want you to go and findMartini and exp-plain everything to him. "

"Martini!" She turned round and looked at him in astonishment. 

"Yes; we must take him into confidence--unless you can think of anyoneelse. "

"I don't quite understand what you mean. "

"We must have someone here whom we can trust, in case of any specialdifficulty; and of all the set here Martini is the man in whom I havemost confidence. Riccardo would do anything he could for us, of course;but I think Martini has a steadier head. Still, you know him better thanI do; it is as you think. "

"I have not the slightest doubt as to Martini's trustworthiness andefficiency in every respect; and I think he would probably consent togive us any help he could. But----"

He understood at once. 

"Gemma, what would you feel if you found out that a comrade in bitterneed had not asked you for help you might have given, for fear ofhurting or distressing you? Would you say there was any true kindness inthat?"

"Very well, " she said, after a little pause; "I will send Katie round atonce and ask him to come; and while she is gone I will go to Louisa forher passport; she promised to lend it whenever I want one. What aboutmoney? Shall I draw some out of the bank?"

"No; don't waste time on that; I can draw enough from my account to lastus for a bit. We will fall back on yours later on if my balance runsshort. Till half-past five, then; I shall be sure to find you here, ofcourse?"

"Oh, yes! I shall be back long before then. "

Half an hour after the appointed time he returned, and found Gemmaand Martini sitting on the terrace together. He saw at once that theirconversation had been a distressing one; the traces of agitation werevisible in both of them, and Martini was unusually silent and glum. 

"Have you arranged everything?" she asked, looking up. 

"Yes; and I have brought you some money for the journey. The horse willbe ready for me at the Ponte Rosso barrier at one in the night. "

"Is not that rather late? You ought to get into San Lorenzo before thepeople are up in the morning. "

"So I shall; it's a very fast horse; and I don't want to leave herewhen there's a chance of anyone noticing me. I shan't go home any more;there's a spy watching at the door, and he thinks me in. "

"How did you get out without his seeing you?"

"Out of the kitchen window into the back garden and over the neighbour'sorchard wall; that's what makes me so late; I had to dodge him. I leftthe owner of the horse to sit in the study all the evening with the lamplighted. When the spy sees the light in the window and a shadow onthe blind he will be quite satisfied that I am writing at home thisevening. "

"Then you will stay here till it is time to go to the barrier?"

"Yes; I don't want to be seen in the street any more to-night. Have acigar, Martini? I know Signora Bolla doesn't mind smoke. "

"I shan't be here to mind; I must go downstairs and help Katie with thedinner. "

When she had gone Martini got up and began to pace to and fro with hishands behind his back. The Gadfly sat smoking and looking silently outat the drizzling rain. 

"Rivarez!" Martini began, stopping in front of him, but keeping his eyeson the ground; "what sort of thing are you going to drag her into?"

The Gadfly took the cigar from his mouth and blew away a long trail ofsmoke. 

"She has chosen for herself, " he said, "without compulsion on anyone'spart. "

"Yes, yes--I know. But tell me----"

He stopped. 

"I will tell you anything I can. "

"Well, then--I don't know much about the details of these affairs in thehills, --are you going to take her into any very serious danger?"

"Do you want the truth?"

"Yes. "

"Then--yes. "

Martini turned away and went on pacing up and down. Presently he stoppedagain. 

"I want to ask you another question. If you don't choose to answer it, you needn't, of course; but if you do answer, then answer honestly. Areyou in love with her?"

The Gadfly deliberately knocked the ash from his cigar and went onsmoking in silence. 

"That means--that you don't choose to answer?"

"No; only that I think I have a right to know why you ask me that. "

"Why? Good God, man, can't you see why?"

"Ah!" He laid down his cigar and looked steadily at Martini. "Yes, " hesaid at last, slowly and softly. "I am in love with her. But you needn'tthink I am going to make love to her, or worry about it. I am only goingto----"

His voice died away in a strange, faint whisper. Martini came a stepnearer. 

"Only going--to----"

"To die. "

He was staring straight before him with a cold, fixed look, as if hewere dead already. When he spoke again his voice was curiously lifelessand even. 

"You needn't worry her about it beforehand, " he said; "but there's notthe ghost of a chance for me. It's dangerous for everyone; that sheknows as well as I do; but the smugglers will do their best to preventher getting taken. They are good fellows, though they are a bit rough. As for me, the rope is round my neck, and when I cross the frontier Ipull the noose. "

"Rivarez, what do you mean? Of course it's dangerous, and particularlyso for you; I understand that; but you have often crossed the frontierbefore and always been successful. "

"Yes, and this time I shall fail. "

"But why? How can you know?"

The Gadfly smiled drearily. 

"Do you remember the German legend of the man that died when he met hisown Double? No? It appeared to him at night in a lonely place, wringingits hands in despair. Well, I met mine the last time I was in the hills;and when I cross the frontier again I shan't come back. "

Martini came up to him and put a hand on the back of his chair. 

"Listen, Rivarez; I don't understand a word of all this metaphysicalstuff, but I do understand one thing: If you feel about it that way, youare not in a fit state to go. The surest way to get taken is to go witha conviction that you will be taken. You must be ill, or out of sortssomehow, to get maggots of that kind into your head. Suppose I goinstead of you? I can do any practical work there is to be done, and youcan send a message to your men, explaining------"

"And let you get killed instead? That would be very clever. "

"Oh, I'm not likely to get killed! They don't know me as they do you. And, besides, even if I did------"

He stopped, and the Gadfly looked up with a slow, inquiring gaze. Martini's hand dropped by his side. 

"She very likely wouldn't miss me as much as she would you, " he saidin his most matter-of-fact voice. "And then, besides, Rivarez, this ispublic business, and we have to look at it from the point of viewof utility--the greatest good of the greatest number. Your 'finalvalue'---isn't that what the economists call it?--is higher than mine;I have brains enough to see that, though I haven't any cause to beparticularly fond of you. You are a bigger man than I am; I'm not surethat you are a better one, but there's more of you, and your death wouldbe a greater loss than mine. "

From the way he spoke he might have been discussing the value of shareson the Exchange. The Gadfly looked up, shivering as if with cold. 

"Would you have me wait till my grave opens of itself to swallow me up?

 "If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride----

Look here, Martini, you and I are talking nonsense. "

"You are, certainly, " said Martini gruffly. 

"Yes, and so are you. For Heaven's sake, don't let's go in for romanticself-sacrifice, like Don Carlos and Marquis Posa. This is the nineteenthcentury; and if it's my business to die, I have got to do it. "

"And if it's my business to live, I have got to do that, I suppose. You're the lucky one, Rivarez. "

"Yes, " the Gadfly assented laconically; "I was always lucky. "

They smoked in silence for a few minutes, and then began to talk ofbusiness details. When Gemma came up to call them to dinner, neither ofthem betrayed in face or manner that their conversation had been in anyway unusual. After dinner they sat discussing plans and making necessaryarrangements till eleven o'clock, when Martini rose and took his hat. 

"I will go home and fetch that riding-cloak of mine, Rivarez. I thinkyou will be less recognizable in it than in your light suit. I want toreconnoitre a bit, too, and make sure there are no spies about before westart. "

"Are you coming with me to the barrier?"

"Yes; it's safer to have four eyes than two in case of anyone followingyou. I'll be back by twelve. Be sure you don't start without me. I hadbetter take the key, Gemma, so as not to wake anyone by ringing. "

She raised her eyes to his face as he took the keys. She understood thathe had invented a pretext in order to leave her alone with the Gadfly. 

"You and I will talk to-morrow, " she said. "We shall have time in themorning, when my packing is finished. "

"Oh, yes! Plenty of time. There are two or three little things I wantto ask you about, Rivarez; but we can talk them over on our way to thebarrier. You had better send Katie to bed, Gemma; and be as quiet as youcan, both of you. Good-bye till twelve, then. "

He went away with a little nod and smile, banging the door after him tolet the neighbours hear that Signora Bolla's visitor was gone. 

Gemma went out into the kitchen to say good-night to Katie, and cameback with black coffee on a tray. 

"Would you like to lie down a bit?" she said. "You won't have any sleepthe rest of the night. "

"Oh, dear no! I shall sleep at San Lorenzo while the men are getting mydisguise ready. "

"Then have some coffee. Wait a minute; I will get you out the biscuits. "

As she knelt down at the side-board he suddenly stooped over hershoulder. 

"Whatever have you got there? Chocolate creams and English toffee! Why, this is l-luxury for a king!"

She looked up, smiling faintly at his enthusiastic tone. 

"Are you fond of sweets? I always keep them for Cesare; he is a perfectbaby over any kind of lollipops. "

"R-r-really? Well, you must get him s-some more to-morrow and give methese to take with me. No, let me p-p-put the toffee in my pocket; itwill console me for all the lost joys of life. I d-do hope they'll giveme a bit of toffee to suck the day I'm hanged. "

"Oh, do let me find a cardboard box for it, at least, before you put itin your pocket! You will be so sticky! Shall I put the chocolates in, too?"

"No, I want to eat them now, with you. "

"But I don't like chocolate, and I want you to come and sit down likea reasonable human being. We very likely shan't have another chance totalk quietly before one or other of us is killed, and------"

"She d-d-doesn't like chocolate!" he murmured under his breath. "ThenI must be greedy all by myself. This is a case of the hangman's supper, isn't it? You are going to humour all my whims to-night. First of all, Iwant you to sit on this easy-chair, and, as you said I might lie down, Ishall lie here and be comfortable. "

He threw himself down on the rug at her feet, leaning his elbow on thechair and looking up into her face. 

"How pale you are!" he said. "That's because you take life sadly, anddon't like chocolate----"

"Do be serious for just five minutes! After all, it is a matter of lifeand death. "

"Not even for two minutes, dear; neither life nor death is worth it. "

He had taken hold of both her hands and was stroking them with the tipsof his fingers. 

"Don't look so grave, Minerva! You'll make me cry in a minute, andthen you'll be sorry. I do wish you'd smile again; you have such ad-delightfully unexpected smile. There now, don't scold me, dear! Let useat our biscuits together, like two good children, without quarrellingover them--for to-morrow we die. "

He took a sweet biscuit from the plate and carefully halved it, breakingthe sugar ornament down the middle with scrupulous exactness. 

"This is a kind of sacrament, like what the goody-goody people have inchurch. 'Take, eat; this is my body. ' And we must d-drink the wineout of the s-s-same glass, you know--yes, that is right. 'Do this inremembrance----'"

She put down the glass. 

"Don't!" she said, with almost a sob. He looked up, and took her handsagain. 

"Hush, then! Let us be quiet for a little bit. When one of us dies, theother will remember this. We will forget this loud, insistent world thathowls about our ears; we will go away together, hand in hand; we willgo away into the secret halls of death, and lie among the poppy-flowers. Hush! We will be quite still. "

He laid his head down against her knee and covered his face. In thesilence she bent over him, her hand on the black head. So the timeslipped on and on; and they neither moved nor spoke. 

"Dear, it is almost twelve, " she said at last. He raised his head. 

"We have only a few minutes more; Martini will be back presently. Perhaps we shall never see each other again. Have you nothing to say tome?"

He slowly rose and walked away to the other side of the room. There wasa moment's silence. 

"I have one thing to say, " he began in a hardly audible voice; "onething--to tell you----"

He stopped and sat down by the window, hiding his face in both hands. 

"You have been a long time deciding to be merciful, " she said softly. 

"I have not seen much mercy in my life; and I thought--at first--youwouldn't care----"

"You don't think that now. "

She waited a moment for him to speak and then crossed the room and stoodbeside him. 

"Tell me the truth at last, " she whispered. "Think, if you are killedand I not--I should have to go through all my life and never know--neverbe quite sure----"

He took her hands and clasped them tightly. 

"If I am killed---- You see, when I went to South America---- Ah, Martini!"

He broke away with a violent start and threw open the door of the room. Martini was rubbing his boots on the mat. 

"Punctual to the m-m-minute, as usual! You're an an-n-nimatedchronometer, Martini. Is that the r-r-riding-cloak?"

"Yes; and two or three other things. I have kept them as dry as I could, but it's pouring with rain. You will have a most uncomfortable ride, I'mafraid. "

"Oh, that's no matter. Is the street clear?"

"Yes; all the spies seem to have gone to bed. I don't much wondereither, on such a villainous night. Is that coffee, Gemma? He ought tohave something hot before he goes out into the wet, or he will catchcold. "

"It is black coffee, and very strong. I will boil some milk. "

She went into the kitchen, passionately clenching her teeth and hands tokeep from breaking down. When she returned with the milk the Gadflyhad put on the riding-cloak and was fastening the leather gaiters whichMartini had brought. He drank a cup of coffee, standing, and took up thebroad-brimmed riding hat. 

"I think it's time to start, Martini; we must make a round before we goto the barrier, in case of anything. Good-bye, for the present, signora;I shall meet you at Forli on Friday, then, unless anything special turnsup. Wait a minute; th-this is the address. "

He tore a leaf out of his pocket-book and wrote a few words in pencil. 

"I have it already, " she said in a dull, quiet voice. 

"H-have you? Well, there it is, anyway. Come, Martini. Sh-sh-sh! Don'tlet the door creak!"

They crept softly downstairs. When the street door clicked behind themshe went back into the room and mechanically unfolded the paper he hadput into her hand. Underneath the address was written:

"I will tell you everything there. "

CHAPTER II. 

IT was market-day in Brisighella, and the country folk had come in fromthe villages and hamlets of the district with their pigs and poultry, their dairy produce and droves of half-wild mountain cattle. Themarket-place was thronged with a perpetually shifting crowd, laughing, joking, bargaining for dried figs, cheap cakes, and sunflower seeds. Thebrown, bare-footed children sprawled, face downward, on the pavement inthe hot sun, while their mothers sat under the trees with their basketsof butter and eggs. 

Monsignor Montanelli, coming out to wish the people "Good-morning, " wasat once surrounded by a clamourous throng of children, holding up forhis acceptance great bunches of irises and scarlet poppies and sweetwhite narcissus from the mountain slopes. His passion for wild flowerswas affectionately tolerated by the people, as one of the little follieswhich sit gracefully on very wise men. If anyone less universallybeloved had filled his house with weeds and grasses they would havelaughed at him; but the "blessed Cardinal" could afford a few harmlesseccentricities. 

"Well, Mariuccia, " he said, stopping to pat one of the children on thehead; "you have grown since I saw you last. And how is the grandmother'srheumatism?"

"She's been better lately, Your Eminence; but mother's bad now. "

"I'm sorry to hear that; tell the mother to come down here some day andsee whether Dr. Giordani can do anything for her. I will find somewhereto put her up; perhaps the change will do her good. You are lookingbetter, Luigi; how are your eyes?"

He passed on, chatting with the mountaineers. He always rememberedthe names and ages of the children, their troubles and those of theirparents; and would stop to inquire, with sympathetic interest, for thehealth of the cow that fell sick at Christmas, or of the rag-doll thatwas crushed under a cart-wheel last market-day. 

When he returned to the palace the marketing began. A lame man in a blueshirt, with a shock of black hair hanging into his eyes and a deep scaracross the left cheek, lounged up to one of the booths and, in very badItalian, asked for a drink of lemonade. 

"You're not from these parts, " said the woman who poured it out, glancing up at him. 

"No. I come from Corsica. "

"Looking for work?"

"Yes; it will be hay-cutting time soon, and a gentleman that has a farmnear Ravenna came across to Bastia the other day and told me there'splenty of work to be got there. "

"I hope you'll find it so, I'm sure, but times are bad hereabouts. "

"They're worse in Corsica, mother. I don't know what we poor folk arecoming to. "

"Have you come over alone?"

"No, my mate is with me; there he is, in the red shirt. Hola, Paolo!"

Michele hearing himself called, came lounging up with his hands in hispockets. He made a fairly good Corsican, in spite of the red wig whichhe had put on to render himself unrecognizable. As for the Gadfly, helooked his part to perfection. 

They sauntered through the market-place together, Michele whistlingbetween his teeth, and the Gadfly trudging along with a bundle over hisshoulder, shuffling his feet on the ground to render his lamenessless observable. They were waiting for an emissary, to whom importantdirections had to be given. 

"There's Marcone, on horseback, at that corner, " Michele whisperedsuddenly. The Gadfly, still carrying his bundle, shuffled towards thehorseman. 

"Do you happen to be wanting a hay-maker, sir?" he said, touching hisragged cap and running one finger along the bridle. It was the signalagreed upon, and the rider, who from his appearance might have been acountry squire's bailiff, dismounted and threw the reins on the horse'sneck. 

"What sort of work can you do, my man?"

The Gadfly fumbled with his cap. 

"I can cut grass, sir, and trim hedges"--he began; and without any breakin his voice, went straight on: "At one in the morning at the mouth ofthe round cave. You must have two good horses and a cart. I shall bewaiting inside the cave---- And then I can dig, sir, and----"

"That will do, I only want a grass-cutter. Have you ever been outbefore?"

"Once, sir. Mind, you must come well-armed; we may meet a flyingsquadron. Don't go by the wood-path; you're safer on the other side. Ifyou meet a spy, don't stop to argue with him; fire at once---- I shouldbe very glad of work, sir. "

"Yes, I dare say, but I want an experienced grass-cutter. No, I haven'tgot any coppers to-day. "

A very ragged beggar had slouched up to them, with a doleful, monotonouswhine. 

"Have pity on a poor blind man, in the name of the Blessed Virgin------Get out of this place at once; there's a flying squadron comingalong----Most Holy Queen of Heaven, Maiden undefiled--It's you they'reafter, Rivarez; they'll be here in two minutes---- And so may the saintsreward you---- You'll have to make a dash for it; there are spies at allthe corners. It's no use trying to slip away without being seen. "

Marcone slipped the reins into the Gadfly's hand. 

"Make haste! Ride out to the bridge and let the horse go; you can hidein the ravine. We're all armed; we can keep them back for ten minutes. "

"No. I won't have you fellows taken. Stand together, all of you, andfire after me in order. Move up towards our horses; there they are, tethered by the palace steps; and have your knives ready. We retreatfighting, and when I throw my cap down, cut the halters and jump everyman on the nearest horse. We may all reach the wood that way. "

They had spoken in so quiet an undertone that even the nearestbystanders had not supposed their conversation to refer to anythingmore dangerous than grass-cutting. Marcone, leading his own mare by thebridle, walked towards the tethered horses, the Gadfly slouching alongbeside him, and the beggar following them with an outstretched hand anda persistent whine. Michele came up whistling; the beggar had warned himin passing, and he quietly handed on the news to three countrymen whowere eating raw onions under a tree. They immediately rose and followedhim; and before anyone's notice had been attracted to them, the wholeseven were standing together by the steps of the palace, each man withone hand on the hidden pistol, and the tethered horses within easyreach. 

"Don't betray yourselves till I move, " the Gadfly said softly andclearly. "They may not recognize us. When I fire, then begin in order. Don't fire at the men; lame their horses--then they can't follow us. Three of you fire, while the other three reload. If anyone comes betweenyou and our horses, kill him. I take the roan. When I throw down my cap, each man for himself; don't stop for anything. "

"Here they come, " said Michele; and the Gadfly turned round, with an airof naive and stupid wonder, as the people suddenly broke off in theirbargaining. 

Fifteen armed men rode slowly into the marketplace. They had greatdifficulty to get past the throng of people at all, and, but for thespies at the corners of the square, all the seven conspirators couldhave slipped quietly away while the attention of the crowd was fixedupon the soldiers. Michele moved a little closer to the Gadfly. 

"Couldn't we get away now?"

"No; we're surrounded with spies, and one of them has recognized me. Hehas just sent a man to tell the captain where I am. Our only chance isto lame their horses. "

"Which is the spy?"

"The first man I fire at. Are you all ready? They have made a lane tous; they are going to come with a rush. "

"Out of the way there!" shouted the captain. "In the name of HisHoliness!"

The crowd had drawn back, startled and wondering; and the soldiers madea quick dash towards the little group standing by the palace steps. TheGadfly drew a pistol from his blouse and fired, not at the advancingtroops, but at the spy, who was approaching the horses, and who fellback with a broken collar-bone. Immediately after the report, six moreshots were fired in quick succession, as the conspirators moved steadilycloser to the tethered horses. 

One of the cavalry horses stumbled and plunged; another fell tothe ground with a fearful cry. Then, through the shrieking of thepanic-stricken people, came the loud, imperious voice of the officer incommand, who had risen in the stirrups and was holding a sword above hishead. 

"This way, men!"

He swayed in the saddle and sank back; the Gadfly had fired againwith his deadly aim. A little stream of blood was trickling down thecaptain's uniform; but he steadied himself with a violent effort, and, clutching at his horse's mane, cried out fiercely:

"Kill that lame devil if you can't take him alive! It's Rivarez!"

"Another pistol, quick!" the Gadfly called to his men; "and go!"

He flung down his cap. It was only just in time, for the swords of thenow infuriated soldiers were flashing close in front of him. 

"Put down your weapons, all of you!"

Cardinal Montanelli had stepped suddenly between the combatants; and oneof the soldiers cried out in a voice sharp with terror:

"Your Eminence! My God, you'll be murdered!"

Montanelli only moved a step nearer, and faced the Gadfly's pistol. 

Five of the conspirators were already on horseback and dashing up thehilly street. Marcone sprang on to the back of his mare. In the momentof riding away, he glanced back to see whether his leader was in need ofhelp. The roan was close at hand, and in another instant all would havebeen safe; but as the figure in the scarlet cassock stepped forward, the Gadfly suddenly wavered and the hand with the pistol sank down. The instant decided everything. Immediately he was surrounded and flungviolently to the ground, and the weapon was dashed out of his hand by ablow from the flat of a soldier's sword. Marcone struck his mare's flankwith the stirrup; the hoofs of the cavalry horses were thundering up thehill behind him; and it would have been worse than useless to stay andbe taken too. Turning in the saddle as he galloped away, to fire a lastshot in the teeth of the nearest pursuer, he saw the Gadfly, with bloodon his face, trampled under the feet of horses and soldiers and spies;and heard the savage curses of the captors, the yells of triumph andrage. 

Montanelli did not notice what had happened; he had moved away from thesteps, and was trying to calm the terrified people. Presently, as hestooped over the wounded spy, a startled movement of the crowd made himlook up. The soldiers were crossing the square, dragging their prisonerafter them by the rope with which his hands were tied. His face waslivid with pain and exhaustion, and he panted fearfully for breath; buthe looked round at the Cardinal, smiling with white lips, and whispered:

"I c-cong-gratulate your Eminence. "

 *****

Five days later Martini reached Forli. He had received from Gemma bypost a bundle of printed circulars, the signal agreed upon in caseof his being needed in any special emergency; and, remembering theconversation on the terrace, he guessed the truth at once. All throughthe journey he kept repeating to himself that there was no reason forsupposing anything to have happened to the Gadfly, and that it wasabsurd to attach any importance to the childish superstitions of sonervous and fanciful a person; but the more he reasoned with himselfagainst the idea, the more firmly did it take possession of his mind. 

"I have guessed what it is: Rivarez is taken, of course?" he said, as hecame into Gemma's room. 

"He was arrested last Thursday, at Brisighella. He defended himselfdesperately and wounded the captain of the squadron and a spy. "

"Armed resistance; that's bad!"

"It makes no difference; he was too deeply compromised already for apistol-shot more or less to affect his position much. "

"What do you think they are going to do with him?"

She grew a shade paler even than before. 

"I think, " she said; "that we must not wait to find out what they meanto do. "

"You think we shall be able to effect a rescue?"

"We MUST. "

He turned away and began to whistle, with his hands behind his back. Gemma let him think undisturbed. She was sitting still, leaning her headagainst the back of the chair, and looking out into vague distance witha fixed and tragic absorption. When her face wore that expression, ithad a look of Durer's "Melancolia. "

"Have you seen him?" Martini asked, stopping for a moment in his tramp. 

"No; he was to have met me here the next morning. "

"Yes, I remember. Where is he?"

"In the fortress; very strictly guarded, and, they say, in chains. "

He made a gesture of indifference. 

"Oh, that's no matter; a good file will get rid of any number of chains. If only he isn't wounded----"

"He seems to have been slightly hurt, but exactly how much we don'tknow. I think you had better hear the account of it from Michelehimself; he was present at the arrest. "

"How does he come not to have been taken too? Did he run away and leaveRivarez in the lurch?"

"It's not his fault; he fought as long as anybody did, and followed thedirections given him to the letter. For that matter, so did they all. The only person who seems to have forgotten, or somehow made a mistakeat the last minute, is Rivarez himself. There's something inexplicableabout it altogether. Wait a moment; I will call Michele. "

She went out of the room, and presently came back with Michele and abroad-shouldered mountaineer. 

"This is Marco, " she said. "You have heard of him; he is one of thesmugglers. He has just got here, and perhaps will be able to tell usmore. Michele, this is Cesare Martini, that I spoke to you about. Willyou tell him what happened, as far as you saw it?"

Michele gave a short account of the skirmish with the squadron. 

"I can't understand how it happened, " he concluded. "Not one of us wouldhave left him if we had thought he would be taken; but his directionswere quite precise, and it never occurred to us, when he threw down hiscap, that he would wait to let them surround him. He was close besidethe roan--I saw him cut the tether--and I handed him a loaded pistolmyself before I mounted. The only thing I can suppose is that he missedhis footing, --being lame, --in trying to mount. But even then, he couldhave fired. "

"No, it wasn't that, " Marcone interposed. "He didn't attempt to mount. I was the last one to go, because my mare shied at the firing; and Ilooked round to see whether he was safe. He would have got off clear ifit hadn't been for the Cardinal. "

"Ah!" Gemma exclaimed softly; and Martini repeated in amazement: "TheCardinal?"

"Yes; he threw himself in front of the pistol--confound him! I supposeRivarez must have been startled, for he dropped his pistol-hand and putthe other one up like this"--laying the back of his left wrist acrosshis eyes--"and of course they all rushed on him. "

"I can't make that out, " said Michele. "It's not like Rivarez to losehis head at a crisis. "

"Probably he lowered his pistol for fear of killing an unarmed man, "Martini put in. Michele shrugged his shoulders. 

"Unarmed men shouldn't poke their noses into the middle of a fight. War is war. If Rivarez had put a bullet into His Eminence, instead ofletting himself be caught like a tame rabbit, there'd be one honest manthe more and one priest the less. "

He turned away, biting his moustache. His anger was very near tobreaking down in tears. 

"Anyway, " said Martini, "the thing's done, and there's no use wastingtime in discussing how it happened. The question now is how we're toarrange an escape for him. I suppose you're all willing to risk it?"

Michele did not even condescend to answer the superfluous question, and the smuggler only remarked with a little laugh: "I'd shoot my ownbrother, if he weren't willing. "

"Very well, then---- First thing; have you got a plan of the fortress?"

Gemma unlocked a drawer and took out several sheets of paper. 

"I have made out all the plans. Here is the ground floor of thefortress; here are the upper and lower stories of the towers, and herethe plan of the ramparts. These are the roads leading to the valley, and here are the paths and hiding-places in the mountains, and theunderground passages. "

"Do you know which of the towers he is in?"

"The east one, in the round room with the grated window. I have markedit on the plan. "

"How did you get your information?"

"From a man nicknamed 'The Cricket, ' a soldier of the guard. He iscousin to one of our men--Gino. "

"You have been quick about it. "

"There's no time to lose. Gino went into Brisighella at once; and someof the plans we already had. That list of hiding-places was made byRivarez himself; you can see by the handwriting. "

"What sort of men are the soldiers of the guard?"

"That we have not been able to find out yet; the Cricket has only justcome to the place, and knows nothing about the other men. "

"We must find out from Gino what the Cricket himself is like. Isanything known of the government's intentions? Is Rivarez likely to betried in Brisighella or taken in to Ravenna?"

"That we don't know. Ravenna, of course, is the chief town of theLegation and by law cases of importance can be tried only there, in theTribunal of First Instance. But law doesn't count for much in the FourLegations; it depends on the personal fancy of anybody who happens to bein power. "

"They won't take him in to Ravenna, " Michele interposed. 

"What makes you think so?"

"I am sure of it. Colonel Ferrari, the military Governor at Brisighella, is uncle to the officer that Rivarez wounded; he's a vindictive sort ofbrute and won't give up a chance to spite an enemy. "

"You think he will try to keep Rivarez here?"

"I think he will try to get him hanged. "

Martini glanced quickly at Gemma. She was very pale, but her face hadnot changed at the words. Evidently the idea was no new one to her. 

"He can hardly do that without some formality, " she said quietly; "buthe might possibly get up a court-martial on some pretext or other, andjustify himself afterwards by saying that the peace of the town requiredit. "

"But what about the Cardinal? Would he consent to things of that kind?"

"He has no jurisdiction in military affairs. "

"No, but he has great influence. Surely the Governor would not ventureon such a step without his consent?"

"He'll never get that, " Marcone interrupted. "Montanelli was alwaysagainst the military commissions, and everything of the kind. So longas they keep him in Brisighella nothing serious can happen; the Cardinalwill always take the part of any prisoner. What I am afraid of is theirtaking him to Ravenna. Once there, he's lost. "

"We shouldn't let him get there, " said Michele. "We could manage arescue on the road; but to get him out of the fortress here is anothermatter. "

"I think, " said Gemma; "that it would be quite useless to wait for thechance of his being transferred to Ravenna. We must make the attempt atBrisighella, and we have no time to lose. Cesare, you and I had bettergo over the plan of the fortress together, and see whether we canthink out anything. I have an idea in my head, but I can't get over onepoint. "

"Come, Marcone, " said Michele, rising; "we will leave them to think outtheir scheme. I have to go across to Fognano this afternoon, and I wantyou to come with me. Vincenzo hasn't sent those cartridges, and theyought to have been here yesterday. "

When the two men had gone, Martini went up to Gemma and silently heldout his hand. She let her fingers lie in his for a moment. 

"You were always a good friend, Cesare, " she said at last; "and a verypresent help in trouble. And now let us discuss plans. "

CHAPTER III. 

"AND I once more most earnestly assure Your Eminence that your refusalis endangering the peace of the town. "

The Governor tried to preserve the respectful tone due to a highdignitary of the Church; but there was audible irritation in his voice. His liver was out of order, his wife was running up heavy bills, andhis temper had been sorely tried during the last three weeks. A sullen, disaffected populace, whose dangerous mood grew daily more apparent; adistrict honeycombed with plots and bristling with hidden weapons; aninefficient garrison, of whose loyalty he was more than doubtful, anda Cardinal whom he had pathetically described to his adjutant as the"incarnation of immaculate pig-headedness, " had already reduced himto the verge of desperation. Now he was saddled with the Gadfly, ananimated quintessence of the spirit of mischief. 

Having begun by disabling both the Governor's favourite nephew andhis most valuable spy, the "crooked Spanish devil" had followed up hisexploits in the market-place by suborning the guards, browbeating theinterrogating officers, and "turning the prison into a bear-garden. "He had now been three weeks in the fortress, and the authorities ofBrisighella were heartily sick of their bargain. They had subjectedhim to interrogation upon interrogation; and after employing, to obtainadmissions from him, every device of threat, persuasion, and stratagemwhich their ingenuity could suggest, remained just as wise as on theday of his capture. They had begun to realize that it would perhaps havebeen better to send him into Ravenna at once. It was, however, too lateto rectify the mistake. The Governor, when sending in to the Legate hisreport of the arrest, had begged, as a special favour, permission tosuperintend personally the investigation of this case; and, his requesthaving been graciously acceded to, he could not now withdraw without ahumiliating confession that he was overmatched. 

The idea of settling the difficulty by a courtmartial had, as Gemma andMichele had foreseen, presented itself to him as the only satisfactorysolution; and Cardinal Montanelli's stubborn refusal to countenance thiswas the last drop which made the cup of his vexations overflow. 

"I think, " he said, "that if Your Eminence knew what I and my assistantshave put up with from this man you would feel differently about thematter. I fully understand and respect the conscientious objection toirregularities in judicial proceedings; but this is an exceptional caseand calls for exceptional measures. "

"There is no case, " Montanelli answered, "which calls for injustice; andto condemn a civilian by the judgment of a secret military tribunal isboth unjust and illegal. "

"The case amounts to this, Your Eminence: The prisoner is manifestlyguilty of several capital crimes. He joined the infamous attempt ofSavigno, and the military commission nominated by Monsignor Spinolawould certainly have had him shot or sent to the galleys then, hadhe not succeeded in escaping to Tuscany. Since that time he has neverceased plotting. He is known to be an influential member of one of themost pestilent secret societies in the country. He is gravely suspectedof having consented to, if not inspired, the assassination of no lessthan three confidential police agents. He has been caught--one mightalmost say--in the act of smuggling firearms into the Legation. Hehas offered armed resistance to authority and seriously wounded twoofficials in the discharge of their duty, and he is now a standingmenace to the peace and order of the town. Surely, in such a case, acourt-martial is justifiable. "

"Whatever the man has done, " Montanelli replied, "he has the right to bejudged according to law. "

"The ordinary course of law involves delay, Your Eminence, and in thiscase every moment is precious. Besides everything else, I am in constantterror of his escaping. "

"If there is any danger of that, it rests with you to guard him moreclosely. "

"I do my best, Your Eminence, but I am dependent upon the prison staff, and the man seems to have bewitched them all. I have changed the guardfour times within three weeks; I have punished the soldiers till I amtired of it, and nothing is of any use. I can't prevent their carryingletters backwards and forwards. The fools are in love with him as if hewere a woman. "

"That is very curious. There must be something remarkable about him. "

"There's a remarkable amount of devilry--I beg pardon, Your Eminence, but really this man is enough to try the patience of a saint. It'shardly credible, but I have to conduct all the interrogations myself, for the regular officer cannot stand it any longer. "

"How is that?"

"It's difficult to explain. Your Eminence, but you would understand ifyou had once heard the way he goes on. One might think the interrogatingofficer were the criminal and he the judge. "

"But what is there so terrible that he can do? He can refuse to answeryour questions, of course; but he has no weapon except silence. "

"And a tongue like a razor. We are all mortal, Your Eminence, and mostof us have made mistakes in our time that we don't want published on thehouse-tops. That's only human nature, and it's hard on a man to have hislittle slips of twenty years ago raked up and thrown in his teeth----"

"Has Rivarez brought up some personal secret of the interrogatingofficer?"

"Well, really--the poor fellow got into debt when he was a cavalryofficer, and borrowed a little sum from the regimental funds----"

"Stole public money that had been intrusted to him, in fact?"

"Of course it was very wrong, Your Eminence; but his friends paidit back at once, and the affair was hushed up, --he comes of a goodfamily, --and ever since then he has been irreproachable. How Rivarezfound out about it I can't conceive; but the first thing he did atinterrogation was to bring up this old scandal--before the subaltern, too! And with as innocent a face as if he were saying his prayers! Ofcourse the story's all over the Legation by now. If Your Eminencewould only be present at one of the interrogations, I am sure you wouldrealize---- He needn't know anything about it. You might overhear himfrom------"

Montanelli turned round and looked at the Governor with an expressionwhich his face did not often wear. 

"I am a minister of religion, " he said; "not a police-spy; andeavesdropping forms no part of my professional duties. "

"I--I didn't mean to give offence------"

"I think we shall not get any good out of discussing this questionfurther. If you will send the prisoner here, I will have a talk withhim. "

"I venture very respectfully to advise Your Eminence not to attempt it. The man is perfectly incorrigible. It would be both safer and wiser tooverstep the letter of the law for this once, and get rid of him beforehe does any more mischief. It is with great diffidence that I ventureto press the point after what Your Eminence has said; but after all I amresponsible to Monsignor the Legate for the order of the town------"

"And I, " Montanelli interrupted, "am responsible to God and His Holinessthat there shall be no underhand dealing in my diocese. Since youpress me in the matter, colonel, I take my stand upon my privilegeas Cardinal. I will not allow a secret court-martial in this townin peace-time. I will receive the prisoner here, and alone, at tento-morrow morning. "

"As Your Eminence pleases, " the Governor replied with sulkyrespectfulness; and went away, grumbling to himself: "They're about apair, as far as obstinacy goes. "

He told no one of the approaching interview till it was actually time toknock off the prisoner's chains and start for the palace. It was quiteenough, as he remarked to his wounded nephew, to have this Most Eminentson of Balaam's ass laying down the law, without running any risk of thesoldiers plotting with Rivarez and his friends to effect an escape onthe way. 

When the Gadfly, strongly guarded, entered the room where Montanelli waswriting at a table covered with papers, a sudden recollection cameover him, of a hot midsummer afternoon when he had sat turning overmanuscript sermons in a study much like this. The shutters had beenclosed, as they were here, to keep out the heat, and a fruitseller'svoice outside had called: "Fragola! Fragola!"

He shook the hair angrily back from his eyes and set his mouth in asmile. 

Montanelli looked up from his papers. 

"You can wait in the hall, " he said to the guards. 

"May it please Your Eminence, " began the sergeant, in a lowered voiceand with evident nervousness, "the colonel thinks that this prisoner isdangerous and that it would be better------"

A sudden flash came into Montanelli's eyes. 

"You can wait in the hall, " he repeated quietly; and the sergeant, saluting and stammering excuses with a frightened face, left the roomwith his men. 

"Sit down, please, " said the Cardinal, when the door was shut. TheGadfly obeyed in silence. 

"Signor Rivarez, " Montanelli began after a pause, "I wish to ask you afew questions, and shall be very much obliged to you if you will answerthem. "

The Gadfly smiled. "My ch-ch-chief occupation at p-p-present is to beasked questions. "

"And--not to answer them? So I have heard; but these questions are putby officials who are investigating your case and whose duty is to useyour answers as evidence. "

"And th-those of Your Eminence?" There was a covert insult in the tonemore than in the words, and the Cardinal understood it at once; but hisface did not lose its grave sweetness of expression. 

"Mine, " he said, "whether you answer them or not, will remain betweenyou and me. If they should trench upon your political secrets, of courseyou will not answer. Otherwise, though we are complete strangers to eachother, I hope that you will do so, as a personal favour to me. "

"I am ent-t-tirely at the service of Your Eminence. " He said it with alittle bow, and a face that would have taken the heart to ask favoursout of the daughters of the horse-leech. 

"First, then, you are said to have been smuggling firearms into thisdistrict. What are they wanted for?"

"T-t-to k-k-kill rats with. "

"That is a terrible answer. Are all your fellow-men rats in your eyes ifthey cannot think as you do?"

"S-s-some of them. "

Montanelli leaned back in his chair and looked at him in silence for alittle while. 

"What is that on your hand?" he asked suddenly. 

The Gadfly glanced at his left hand. "Old m-m-marks from the teeth ofsome of the rats. "

"Excuse me; I was speaking of the other hand. That is a fresh hurt. "

The slender, flexible right hand was badly cut and grazed. The Gadflyheld it up. The wrist was swollen, and across it ran a deep and longblack bruise. 

"It is a m-m-mere trifle, as you see, " he said. "When I was arrested theother day, --thanks to Your Eminence, "--he made another little bow, --"oneof the soldiers stamped on it. "

Montanelli took the wrist and examined it closely. "How does it cometo be in such a state now, after three weeks?" he asked. "It is allinflamed. "

"Possibly the p-p-pressure of the iron has not done it much good. "

The Cardinal looked up with a frown. 

"Have they been putting irons on a fresh wound?"

"N-n-naturally, Your Eminence; that is what fresh wounds are for. Oldwounds are not much use. They will only ache; you c-c-can't make themburn properly. "

Montanelli looked at him again in the same close, scrutinizing way; thenrose and opened a drawer full of surgical appliances. 

"Give me the hand, " he said. 

The Gadfly, with a face as hard as beaten iron, held out the hand, and Montanelli, after bathing the injured place, gently bandaged it. Evidently he was accustomed to such work. 

"I will speak about the irons, " he said. "And now I want to ask youanother question: What do you propose to do?"

"Th-th-that is very simply answered, Your Eminence. To escape if I can, and if I can't, to die. "

"Why 'to die'?"

"Because if the Governor doesn't succeed in getting me shot, I shall besent to the galleys, and for me that c-c-comes to the same thing. I havenot got the health to live through it. "

Montanelli rested his arm on the table and pondered silently. The Gadflydid not disturb him. He was leaning back with half-shut eyes, lazilyenjoying the delicious physical sensation of relief from the chains. 

"Supposing, " Montanelli began again, "that you were to succeed inescaping; what should you do with your life?"

"I have already told Your Eminence; I should k-k-kill rats. "

"You would kill rats. That is to say, that if I were to let you escapefrom here now, --supposing I had the power to do so, --you would use yourfreedom to foster violence and bloodshed instead of preventing them?"

The Gadfly raised his eyes to the crucifix on the wall. "'Not peace, but a sword';--at l-least I should be in good company. For my own part, though, I prefer pistols. "

"Signor Rivarez, " said the Cardinal with unruffled composure, "I havenot insulted you as yet, or spoken slightingly of your beliefs orfriends. May I not expect the same courtesy from you, or do you wish meto suppose that an atheist cannot be a gentleman?"

"Ah, I q-quite forgot. Your Eminence places courtesy high among theChristian virtues. I remember your sermon in Florence, on the occasionof my c-controversy with your anonymous defender. "

"That is one of the subjects about which I wished to speak to you. Wouldyou mind explaining to me the reason of the peculiar bitterness you seemto feel against me? If you have simply picked me out as a convenienttarget, that is another matter. Your methods of political controversyare your own affair, and we are not discussing politics now. But Ifancied at the time that there was some personal animosity towards me;and if so, I should be glad to know whether I have ever done you wrongor in any way given you cause for such a feeling. "

Ever done him wrong! The Gadfly put up the bandaged hand to his throat. "I must refer Your Eminence to Shakspere, " he said with a little laugh. "It's as with the man who can't endure a harmless, necessary cat. Myantipathy is a priest. The sight of the cassock makes my t-t-teethache. "

"Oh, if it is only that----" Montanelli dismissed the subject with anindifferent gesture. 

"Still, " he added, "abuse is one thing and perversion of fact isanother. When you stated, in answer to my sermon, that I knew theidentity of the anonymous writer, you made a mistake, --I do not accuseyou of wilful falsehood, --and stated what was untrue. I am to this dayquite ignorant of his name. "

The Gadfly put his head on one side, like an intelligent robin, lookedat him for a moment gravely, then suddenly threw himself back and burstinto a peal of laughter. 

"S-s-sancta simplicitas! Oh, you, sweet, innocent, Arcadian people--andyou never guessed! You n-never saw the cloven hoof?"

Montanelli stood up. "Am I to understand, Signor Rivarez, that you wroteboth sides of the controversy yourself?"

"It was a shame, I know, " the Gadfly answered, looking up with wide, innocent blue eyes. "And you s-s-swallowed everything whole; just as ifit had been an oyster. It was very wrong; but oh, it w-w-was so funny!"

Montanelli bit his lip and sat down again. He had realized from thefirst that the Gadfly was trying to make him lose his temper, and hadresolved to keep it whatever happened; but he was beginning to findexcuses for the Governor's exasperation. A man who had been spending twohours a day for the last three weeks in interrogating the Gadfly mightbe pardoned an occasional swear-word. 

"We will drop that subject, " he said quietly. "What I wanted to see youfor particularly is this: My position here as Cardinal gives me somevoice, if I choose to claim my privilege, in the question of what isto be done with you. The only use to which I should ever put such aprivilege would be to interfere in case of any violence to you which wasnot necessary to prevent you from doing violence to others. I sent foryou, therefore, partly in order to ask whether you have anything tocomplain of, --I will see about the irons; but perhaps there is somethingelse, --and partly because I felt it right, before giving my opinion, tosee for myself what sort of man you are. "

"I have nothing to complain of, Your Eminence. 'A la guerre comme a laguerre. ' I am not a schoolboy, to expect any government to pat me on thehead for s-s-smuggling firearms onto its territory. It's only naturalthat they should hit as hard as they can. As for what sort of man I am, you have had a romantic confession of my sins once. Is not that enough;or w-w-would you like me to begin again?"

"I don't understand you, " Montanelli said coldly, taking up a pencil andtwisting it between his fingers. 

"Surely Your Eminence has not forgotten old Diego, the pilgrim?"He suddenly changed his voice and began to speak as Diego: "I am amiserable sinner------"

The pencil snapped in Montanelli's hand. "That is too much!" he said. 

The Gadfly leaned his head back with a soft little laugh, and satwatching while the Cardinal paced silently up and down the room. 

"Signor Rivarez, " said Montanelli, stopping at last in front of him, "you have done a thing to me that a man who was born of a woman shouldhesitate to do to his worst enemy. You have stolen in upon my privategrief and have made for yourself a mock and a jest out of the sorrowof a fellow-man. I once more beg you to tell me: Have I ever done youwrong? And if not, why have you played this heartless trick on me?"

The Gadfly, leaning back against the chair-cushions, looked up with hissubtle, chilling, inscrutable smile. 

"It am-m-mused me, Your Eminence; you took it all so much to heart, andit rem-m-minded me--a little bit--of a variety show----"

Montanelli, white to the very lips, turned away and rang the bell. 

"You can take back the prisoner, " he said when the guards came in. 

After they had gone he sat down at the table, still trembling withunaccustomed indignation, and took up a pile of reports which had beensent in to him by the parish priests of his diocese. 

Presently he pushed them away, and, leaning on the table, hid his facein both hands. The Gadfly seemed to have left some terrible shadow ofhimself, some ghostly trail of his personality, to haunt the room; andMontanelli sat trembling and cowering, not daring to look up lest heshould see the phantom presence that he knew was not there. The spectrehardly amounted to a hallucination. It was a mere fancy of overwroughtnerves; but he was seized with an unutterable dread of its shadowypresence--of the wounded hand, the smiling, cruel mouth, the mysteriouseyes, like deep sea water----

He shook off the fancy and settled to his work. All day long he hadscarcely a free moment, and the thing did not trouble him; but goinginto his bedroom late at night, he stopped on the threshold with asudden shock of fear. What if he should see it in a dream? He recoveredhimself immediately and knelt down before the crucifix to pray. 

But he lay awake the whole night through. 

CHAPTER IV. 

MONTANELLI'S anger did not make him neglectful of his promise. Heprotested so emphatically against the manner in which the Gadfly hadbeen chained that the unfortunate Governor, who by now was at his wit'send, knocked off all the fetters in the recklessness of despair. "How amI to know, " he grumbled to the adjutant, "what His Eminence will objectto next? If he calls a simple pair of handcuffs 'cruelty, ' he'll beexclaiming against the window-bars presently, or wanting me to feedRivarez on oysters and truffles. In my young days malefactors weremalefactors and were treated accordingly, and nobody thought a traitorany better than a thief. But it's the fashion to be seditious nowadays;and His Eminence seems inclined to encourage all the scoundrels in thecountry. "

"I don't see what business he has got to interfere at all, " the adjutantremarked. "He is not a Legate and has no authority in civil and militaryaffairs. By law------"

"What is the use of talking about law? You can't expect anyone torespect laws after the Holy Father has opened the prisons and turned thewhole crew of Liberal scamps loose on us! It's a positive infatuation!Of course Monsignor Montanelli will give himself airs; he was quietenough under His Holiness the late Pope, but he's cock of the walk now. He has jumped into favour all at once and can do as he pleases. How amI to oppose him? He may have secret authorization from the Vatican, forall I know. Everything's topsy-turvy now; you can't tell from day to daywhat may happen next. In the good old times one knew what to be at, butnowadays------"

The Governor shook his head ruefully. A world in which Cardinalstroubled themselves over trifles of prison discipline and talked aboutthe "rights" of political offenders was a world that was growing toocomplex for him. 

The Gadfly, for his part, had returned to the fortress in a state ofnervous excitement bordering on hysteria. The meeting with Montanellihad strained his endurance almost to breaking-point; and his finalbrutality about the variety show had been uttered in sheer desperation, merely to cut short an interview which, in another five minutes, wouldhave ended in tears. 

Called up for interrogation in the afternoon of the same day, he didnothing but go into convulsions of laughter at every question put tohim; and when the Governor, worried out of all patience, lost his temperand began to swear, he only laughed more immoderately than ever. The unlucky Governor fumed and stormed and threatened his refractoryprisoner with impossible punishments; but finally came, as James Burtonhad come long ago, to the conclusion that it was mere waste of breathand temper to argue with a person in so unreasonable a state of mind. 

The Gadfly was once more taken back to his cell; and there lay down uponthe pallet, in the mood of black and hopeless depression which alwayssucceeded to his boisterous fits. He lay till evening without moving, without even thinking; he had passed, after the vehement emotion of themorning, into a strange, half-apathetic state, in which his own miserywas hardly more to him than a dull and mechanical weight, pressing onsome wooden thing that had forgotten to be a soul. In truth, it was oflittle consequence how all ended; the one thing that mattered to anysentient being was to be spared unbearable pain, and whether the reliefcame from altered conditions or from the deadening of the power tofeel, was a question of no moment. Perhaps he would succeed in escaping;perhaps they would kill him; in any case he should never see the Padreagain, and it was all vanity and vexation of spirit. 

One of the warders brought in supper, and the Gadfly looked up withheavy-eyed indifference. 

"What time is it?"

"Six o'clock. Your supper, sir. "

He looked with disgust at the stale, foul-smelling, half-cold mess, andturned his head away. He was feeling bodily ill as well as depressed;and the sight of the food sickened him. 

"You will be ill if you don't eat, " said the soldier hurriedly. "Take abit of bread, anyway; it'll do you good. "

The man spoke with a curious earnestness of tone, lifting a pieceof sodden bread from the plate and putting it down again. All theconspirator awoke in the Gadfly; he had guessed at once that there wassomething hidden in the bread. 

"You can leave it; I'll eat a bit by and by, " he said carelessly. Thedoor was open, and he knew that the sergeant on the stairs could hearevery word spoken between them. 

When the door was locked on him again, and he had satisfied himself thatno one was watching at the spy-hole, he took up the piece of bread andcarefully crumbled it away. In the middle was the thing he had expected, a bundle of small files. It was wrapped in a bit of paper, on which afew words were written. He smoothed the paper out carefully and carriedit to what little light there was. The writing was crowded into sonarrow a space, and on such thin paper, that it was very difficult toread. 

"The door is unlocked, and there is no moon. Get the filing done as fastas possible, and come by the passage between two and three. We are quiteready and may not have another chance. "

He crushed the paper feverishly in his hand. All the preparations wereready, then, and he had only to file the window bars; how lucky it wasthat the chains were off! He need not stop about filing them. How manybars were there? Two, four; and each must be filed in two places: eight. Oh, he could manage that in the course of the night if he madehaste---- How had Gemma and Martini contrived to get everything ready soquickly--disguises, passports, hiding-places? They must have worked likecart-horses to do it---- And it was her plan that had been adopted afterall. He laughed a little to himself at his own foolishness; as if itmattered whether the plan was hers or not, once it was a good one! Andyet he could not help being glad that it was she who had struck onthe idea of his utilizing the subterranean passage, instead of lettinghimself down by a rope-ladder, as the smugglers had at first suggested. Hers was the more complex and difficult plan, but did not involve, asthe other did, a risk to the life of the sentinel on duty outside theeast wall. Therefore, when the two schemes had been laid before him, hehad unhesitatingly chosen Gemma's. 

The arrangement was that the friendly guard who went by the nickname of"The Cricket" should seize the first opportunity of unlocking, withoutthe knowledge of his fellows, the iron gate leading from the courtyardinto the subterranean passage underneath the ramparts, and should thenreplace the key on its nail in the guard-room. The Gadfly, on receivinginformation of this, was to file through the bars of his window, tearhis shirt into strips and plait them into a rope, by means of which hecould let himself down on to the broad east wall of the courtyard. Alongthis wall he was to creep on hands and knees while the sentinel waslooking in the opposite direction, lying flat upon the masonry wheneverthe man turned towards him. At the southeast corner was a half-ruinedturret. It was upheld, to some extent, by a thick growth of ivy;but great masses of crumbling stone had fallen inward and lay in thecourtyard, heaped against the wall. From this turret he was to climbdown by the ivy and the heaps of stone into the courtyard; and, softlyopening the unlocked gate, to make his way along the passage to asubterranean tunnel communicating with it. Centuries ago this tunnelhad formed a secret corridor between the fortress and a tower on theneighbouring hill; now it was quite disused and blocked in many placesby the falling in of the rocks. No one but the smugglers knew of acertain carefully-hidden hole in the mountain-side which they hadbored through to the tunnel; no one suspected that stores of forbiddenmerchandise were often kept, for weeks together, under the very rampartsof the fortress itself, while the customs-officers were vainly searchingthe houses of the sullen, wrathful-eyed mountaineers. At this hole theGadfly was to creep out on to the hillside, and make his way in the darkto a lonely spot where Martini and a smuggler would be waiting for him. The one great difficulty was that opportunities to unlock the gate afterthe evening patrol did not occur every night, and the descent from thewindow could not be made in very clear weather without too great a riskof being observed by the sentinel. Now that there was really a fairchance of success, it must not be missed. 

He sat down and began to eat some of the bread. It at least did notdisgust him like the rest of the prison food, and he must eat somethingto keep up his strength. 

He had better lie down a bit, too, and try to get a little sleep; itwould not be safe to begin filing before ten o'clock, and he would havea hard night's work. 

And so, after all, the Padre had been thinking of letting him escape!That was like the Padre. But he, for his part, would never consent toit. Anything rather than that! If he escaped, it should be his own doingand that of his comrades; he would have no favours from priests. 

How hot it was! Surely it must be going to thunder; the air was so closeand oppressive. He moved restlessly on the pallet and put the bandagedright hand behind his head for a pillow; then drew it away again. How itburned and throbbed! And all the old wounds were beginning to ache, witha dull, faint persistence. What was the matter with them? Oh, absurd!It was only the thundery weather. He would go to sleep and get a littlerest before beginning his filing. 

Eight bars, and all so thick and strong! How many more were thereleft to file? Surely not many. He must have been filing forhours, --interminable hours--yes, of course, that was what made his armache---- And how it ached; right through to the very bone! But it couldhardly be the filing that made his side ache so; and the throbbing, burning pain in the lame leg--was that from filing?

He started up. No, he had not been asleep; he had been dreaming withopen eyes--dreaming of filing, and it was all still to do. There stoodthe window-bars, untouched, strong and firm as ever. And there was tenstriking from the clock-tower in the distance. He must get to work. 

He looked through the spy-hole, and, seeing that no one was watching, took one of the files from his breast. 

 *****

No, there was nothing the matter with him--nothing! It was allimagination. The pain in his side was indigestion, or a chill, or somesuch thing; not much wonder, after three weeks of this insufferableprison food and air. As for the aching and throbbing all over, it waspartly nervous trouble and partly want of exercise. Yes, that was it, nodoubt; want of exercise. How absurd not to have thought of that before!

He would sit down a little bit, though, and let it pass before he got towork. It would be sure to go over in a minute or two. 

To sit still was worse than all. When he sat still he was at its mercy, and his face grew gray with fear. No, he must get up and set to work, and shake it off. It should depend upon his will to feel or not to feel;and he would not feel, he would force it back. 

He stood up again and spoke to himself, aloud and distinctly:

"I am not ill; I have no time to be ill. I have those bars to file, andI am not going to be ill. "

Then he began to file. 

A quarter-past ten--half-past ten--a quarter to eleven---- He filed andfiled, and every grating scrape of the iron was as though someone werefiling on his body and brain. "I wonder which will be filed throughfirst, " he said to himself with a little laugh; "I or the bars?" And heset his teeth and went on filing. 

Half-past eleven. He was still filing, though the hand was stiff andswollen and would hardly grasp the tool. No, he dared not stop to rest;if he once put the horrible thing down he should never have the courageto begin again. 

The sentinel moved outside the door, and the butt end of his carbinescratched against the lintel. The Gadfly stopped and looked round, thefile still in his lifted hand. Was he discovered?

A little round pellet had been shot through the spy-hole and was lyingon the floor. He laid down the file and stooped to pick up the roundthing. It was a bit of rolled paper. 

 *****

It was a long way to go down and down, with the black waves rushingabout him--how they roared----!

Ah, yes! He was only stooping down to pick up the paper. He was a bitgiddy; many people are when they stoop. There was nothing the matterwith him--nothing. 

He picked it up, carried it to the light, and unfolded it steadily. 

"Come to-night, whatever happens; the Cricket will be transferredto-morrow to another service. This is our only chance. "

He destroyed the paper as he had done the former one, picked up his fileagain, and went back to work, dogged and mute and desperate. 

One o'clock. He had been working for three hours now, and six of theeight bars were filed. Two more, and then, to climb------

He began to recall the former occasions when these terrible attacks hadcome on. The last had been the one at New Year; and he shuddered ashe remembered those five nights. But that time it had not come on sosuddenly; he had never known it so sudden. 

He dropped the file and flung out both hands blindly, praying, in hisutter desperation, for the first time since he had been an atheist;praying to anything--to nothing--to everything. 

"Not to-night! Oh, let me be ill to-morrow! I will bear anythingto-morrow--only not to-night!"

He stood still for a moment, with both hands up to his temples; then hetook up the file once more, and once more went back to his work. 

Half-past one. He had begun on the last bar. His shirt-sleeve was bittento rags; there was blood on his lips and a red mist before his eyes, andthe sweat poured from his forehead as he filed, and filed, and filed----

 *****

After sunrise Montanelli fell asleep. He was utterly worn out with therestless misery of the night and slept for a little while quietly; thenhe began to dream. 

At first he dreamed vaguely, confusedly; broken fragments of images andfancies followed each other, fleeting and incoherent, but all filledwith the same dim sense of struggle and pain, the same shadow ofindefinable dread. Presently he began to dream of sleeplessness; theold, frightful, familiar dream that had been a terror to him for years. And even as he dreamed he recognized that he had been through it allbefore. 

He was wandering about in a great empty place, trying to find some quietspot where he could lie down and sleep. Everywhere there were people, walking up and down; talking, laughing, shouting; praying, ringingbells, and clashing metal instruments together. Sometimes he would getaway to a little distance from the noise, and would lie down, now on thegrass, now on a wooden bench, now on some slab of stone. He would shuthis eyes and cover them with both hands to keep out the light; and wouldsay to himself: "Now I will get to sleep. " Then the crowds would comesweeping up to him, shouting, yelling, calling him by name, begging him:"Wake up! Wake up, quick; we want you!"

Again: he was in a great palace, full of gorgeous rooms, with beds andcouches and low soft lounges. It was night, and he said to himself:"Here, at last, I shall find a quiet place to sleep. " But when he chosea dark room and lay down, someone came in with a lamp, flashing themerciless light into his eyes, and said: "Get up; you are wanted. "

He rose and wandered on, staggering and stumbling like a creaturewounded to death; and heard the clocks strike one, and knew that halfthe night was gone already--the precious night that was so short. Two, three, four, five--by six o'clock the whole town would wake up and therewould be no more silence. 

He went into another room and would have lain down on a bed, but someonestarted up from the pillows, crying out: "This bed is mine!" and heshrank away with despair in his heart. 

Hour after hour struck, and still he wandered on and on, from room toroom, from house to house, from corridor to corridor. The horrible graydawn was creeping near and nearer; the clocks were striking five;the night was gone and he had found no rest. Oh, misery! Anotherday--another day!

He was in a long, subterranean corridor, a low, vaulted passagethat seemed to have no end. It was lighted with glaring lamps andchandeliers; and through its grated roof came the sounds of dancingand laughter and merry music. Up there, in the world of the live peopleoverhead, there was some festival, no doubt. Oh, for a place to hideand sleep; some little place, were it even a grave! And as he spokehe stumbled over an open grave. An open grave, smelling of death androttenness---- Ah, what matter, so he could but sleep!

"This grave is mine!" It was Gladys; and she raised her head and staredat him over the rotting shroud. Then he knelt down and stretched out hisarms to her. 

"Gladys! Gladys! Have a little pity on me; let me creep into this narrowspace and sleep. I do not ask you for your love; I will not touch you, will not speak to you; only let me lie down beside you and sleep! Oh, love, it is so long since I have slept! I cannot bear another day. Thelight glares in upon my soul; the noise is beating my brain to dust. Gladys, let me come in here and sleep!"

And he would have drawn her shroud across his eyes. But she shrank away, screaming:

"It is sacrilege; you are a priest!"

On and on he wandered, and came out upon the sea-shore, on the barrenrocks where the fierce light struck down, and the water moaned its low, perpetual wail of unrest. "Ah!" he said; "the sea will be more merciful;it, too, is wearied unto death and cannot sleep. "

Then Arthur rose up from the deep, and cried aloud:

"This sea is mine!"

 *****

"Your Eminence! Your Eminence!"

Montanelli awoke with a start. His servant was knocking at the door. Herose mechanically and opened it, and the man saw how wild and scared helooked. 

"Your Eminence--are you ill?"

He drew both hands across his forehead. 

"No; I was asleep, and you startled me. "

"I am very sorry; I thought I had heard you moving early this morning, and I supposed------"

"Is it late now?"

"It is nine o'clock, and the Governor has called. He says he hasvery important business, and knowing Your Eminence to be an earlyriser------"

"Is he downstairs? I will come presently. "

He dressed and went downstairs. 

"I am afraid this is an unceremonious way to call upon Your Eminence, "the Governor began. 

"I hope there is nothing the matter?"

"There is very much the matter. Rivarez has all but succeeded inescaping. "

"Well, so long as he has not quite succeeded there is no harm done. Howwas it?"

"He was found in the courtyard, right against the little iron gate. When the patrol came in to inspect the courtyard at three o'clock thismorning one of the men stumbled over something on the ground; and whenthey brought the light up they found Rivarez lying across the pathunconscious. They raised an alarm at once and called me up; and when Iwent to examine his cell I found all the window-bars filed through anda rope made of torn body-linen hanging from one of them. He had lethimself down and climbed along the wall. The iron gate, which leads intothe subterranean tunnels, was found to be unlocked. That looks as if theguards had been suborned. "

"But how did he come to be lying across the path? Did he fall from therampart and hurt himself?"

"That is what I thought at first. Your Eminence; but the prison surgeoncan't find any trace of a fall. The soldier who was on duty yesterdaysays that Rivarez looked very ill last night when he brought in thesupper, and did not eat anything. But that must be nonsense; a sick mancouldn't file those bars through and climb along that roof. It's not inreason. "

"Does he give any account of himself?"

"He is unconscious, Your Eminence. "

"Still?"

"He just half comes to himself from time to time and moans, and thengoes off again. "

"That is very strange. What does the doctor think?"

"He doesn't know what to think. There is no trace of heart-disease thathe can find to account for the thing; but whatever is the matter withhim, it is something that must have come on suddenly, just when he hadnearly managed to escape. For my part, I believe he was struck down bythe direct intervention of a merciful Providence. "

Montanelli frowned slightly. 

"What are you going to do with him?" he asked. 

"That is a question I shall settle in a very few days. In the meantime Ihave had a good lesson. That is what comes of taking off the irons--withall due respect to Your Eminence. "

"I hope, " Montanelli interrupted, "that you will at least not replacethe fetters while he is ill. A man in the condition you describe canhardly make any more attempts to escape. "

"I shall take good care he doesn't, " the Governor muttered to himself ashe went out. "His Eminence can go hang with his sentimental scruples forall I care. Rivarez is chained pretty tight now, and is going to stopso, ill or not. "

 *****

"But how can it have happened? To faint away at the last moment, wheneverything was ready; when he was at the very gate! It's like somehideous joke. "

"I tell you, " Martini answered, "the only thing I can think of is thatone of these attacks must have come on, and that he must have struggledagainst it as long as his strength lasted and have fainted from sheerexhaustion when he got down into the courtyard. "

Marcone knocked the ashes savagely from his pipe. 

"Well, anyhow, that's the end of it; we can't do anything for him now, poor fellow. "

"Poor fellow!" Martini echoed, under his breath. He was beginning torealise that to him, too, the world would look empty and dismal withoutthe Gadfly. 

"What does she think?" the smuggler asked, glancing towards the otherend of the room, where Gemma sat alone, her hands lying idly in her lap, her eyes looking straight before her into blank nothingness. 

"I have not asked her; she has not spoken since I brought her the news. We had best not disturb her just yet. "

She did not appear to be conscious of their presence, but they bothspoke with lowered voices, as though they were looking at a corpse. After a dreary little pause, Marcone rose and put away his pipe. 

"I will come back this evening, " he said; but Martini stopped him with agesture. 

"Don't go yet; I want to speak to you. " He dropped his voice still lowerand continued in almost a whisper:

"Do you believe there is really no hope?"

"I don't see what hope there can be now. We can't attempt it again. Evenif he were well enough to manage his part of the thing, we couldn'tdo our share. The sentinels are all being changed, on suspicion. TheCricket won't get another chance, you may be sure. "

"Don't you think, " Martini asked suddenly; "that, when he recovers, something might be done by calling off the sentinels?"

"Calling off the sentinels? What do you mean?"

"Well, it has occurred to me that if I were to get in the Governor's waywhen the procession passes close by the fortress on Corpus Domini dayand fire in his face, all the sentinels would come rushing to get holdof me, and some of you fellows could perhaps help Rivarez out in theconfusion. It really hardly amounts to a plan; it only came into myhead. "

"I doubt whether it could be managed, " Marcone answered with a verygrave face. "Certainly it would want a lot of thinking out for anythingto come of it. But"--he stopped and looked at Martini--"if it should bepossible--would you do it?"

Martini was a reserved man at ordinary times; but this was not anordinary time. He looked straight into the smuggler's face. 

"Would I do it?" he repeated. "Look at her!"

There was no need for further explanations; in saying that he had saidall. Marcone turned and looked across the room. 

She had not moved since their conversation began. There was no doubt, nofear, even no grief in her face; there was nothing in it but the shadowof death. The smuggler's eyes filled with tears as he looked at her. 

"Make haste, Michele!" he said, throwing open the verandah door andlooking out. "Aren't you nearly done, you two? There are a hundred andfifty things to do!"

Michele, followed by Gino, came in from the verandah. 

"I am ready now, " he said. "I only want to ask the signora----"

He was moving towards her when Martini caught him by the arm. 

"Don't disturb her; she's better alone. "

"Let her be!" Marcone added. "We shan't do any good by meddling. Godknows, it's hard enough on all of us; but it's worse for her, poorsoul!"

CHAPTER V. 

FOR a week the Gadfly lay in a fearful state. The attack was a violentone, and the Governor, rendered brutal by fear and perplexity, had notonly chained him hand and foot, but had insisted on his being bound tohis pallet with leather straps, drawn so tight that he could not movewithout their cutting into the flesh. He endured everything with hisdogged, bitter stoicism till the end of the sixth day. Then his pridebroke down, and he piteously entreated the prison doctor for a doseof opium. The doctor was quite willing to give it; but the Governor, hearing of the request, sharply forbade "any such foolery. "

"How do you know what he wants it for?" he said. "It's just as likely asnot that he's shamming all the time and wants to drug the sentinel, orsome such devilry. Rivarez is cunning enough for anything. "

"My giving him a dose would hardly help him to drug the sentinel, "replied the doctor, unable to suppress a smile. "And as forshamming--there's not much fear of that. He is as likely as not to die. "

"Anyway, I won't have it given. If a man wants to be tenderly treated, he should behave accordingly. He has thoroughly deserved a little sharpdiscipline. Perhaps it will be a lesson to him not to play tricks withthe window-bars again. "

"The law does not admit of torture, though, " the doctor ventured to say;"and this is coming perilously near it. "

"The law says nothing about opium, I think, " said the Governorsnappishly. 

"It is for you to decide, of course, colonel; but I hope you will letthe straps be taken off at any rate. They are a needless aggravation ofhis misery. There's no fear of his escaping now. He couldn't stand ifyou let him go free. "

"My good sir, a doctor may make a mistake like other people, I suppose. I have got him safe strapped now, and he's going to stop so. "

"At least, then, have the straps a little loosened. It is downrightbarbarity to keep them drawn so tight. "

"They will stop exactly as they are; and I will thank you, sir, not totalk about barbarity to me. If I do a thing, I have a reason for it. "

So the seventh night passed without any relief, and the soldierstationed on guard at the cell door crossed himself, shuddering, overand over again, as he listened all night long to heart-rending moans. The Gadfly's endurance was failing him at last. 

At six in the morning the sentinel, just before going off duty, unlockedthe door softly and entered the cell. He knew that he was committinga serious breach of discipline, but could not bear to go away withoutoffering the consolation of a friendly word. 

He found the Gadfly lying still, with closed eyes and parted lips. Hestood silent for a moment; then stooped down and asked:

"Can I do anything for you, sir? I have only a minute. "

The Gadfly opened his eyes. "Let me alone!" he moaned. "Let mealone----"

He was asleep almost before the soldier had slipped back to his post. 

Ten days afterwards the Governor called again at the palace, but foundthat the Cardinal had gone to visit a sick man at Pieve d'Ottavo, andwas not expected home till the afternoon. That evening, just as he wassitting down to dinner, his servant came in to announce:

"His Eminence would like to speak to you. "

The Governor, with a hasty glance into the looking glass, to make surethat his uniform was in order, put on his most dignified air, and wentinto the reception room, where Montanelli was sitting, beating his handgently on the arm of the chair and looking out of the window with ananxious line between his brows. 

"I heard that you called to-day, " he said, cutting short the Governor'spolite speeches with a slightly imperious manner which he never adoptedin speaking to the country folk. "It was probably on the business aboutwhich I have been wishing to speak to you. "

"It was about Rivarez, Your Eminence. "

"So I supposed. I have been thinking the matter over these last fewdays. But before we go into that, I should like to hear whether you haveanything new to tell me. "

The Governor pulled his moustaches with an embarrassed air. 

"The fact is, I came to know whether Your Eminence had anything to tellme. If you still have an objection to the course I proposed taking, Ishould be sincerely glad of your advice in the matter; for, honestly, Idon't know what to do. "

"Is there any new difficulty?"

"Only that next Thursday is the 3d of June, --Corpus Domini, --and somehowor other the matter must be settled before then. "

"Thursday is Corpus Domini, certainly; but why must it be settledespecially before then?"

"I am exceedingly sorry, Your Eminence, if I seem to oppose you, but Ican't undertake to be responsible for the peace of the town if Rivarezis not got rid of before then. All the roughest set in the hillscollects here for that day, as Your Eminence knows, and it is more thanprobable that they may attempt to break open the fortress gates and takehim out. They won't succeed; I'll take care of that, if I have to sweepthem from the gates with powder and shot. But we are very likely to havesomething of that kind before the day is over. Here in the Romagna thereis bad blood in the people, and when once they get out their knives----"

"I think with a little care we can prevent matters going as far asknives. I have always found the people of this district easy to get onwith, if they are reasonably treated. Of course, if you once begin tothreaten or coerce a Romagnol he becomes unmanageable. But have you anyreason for supposing a new rescue scheme is intended?"

"I heard, both this morning and yesterday, from confidential agents ofmine, that a great many rumours are circulating all over the districtand that the people are evidently up to some mischief or other. Butone can't find out the details; if one could it would be easier to takeprecautions. And for my part, after the fright we had the other day, Iprefer to be on the safe side. With such a cunning fox as Rivarez onecan't be too careful. "

"The last I heard about Rivarez was that he was too ill to move orspeak. Is he recovering, then?"

"He seems much better now, Your Eminence. He certainly has been veryill--unless he was shamming all the time. "

"Have you any reason for supposing that likely?"

"Well, the doctor seems convinced that it was all genuine; but it's avery mysterious kind of illness. Any way, he is recovering, and moreintractable than ever. "

"What has he done now?"

"There's not much he can do, fortunately, " the Governor answered, smiling as he remembered the straps. "But his behaviour is somethingindescribable. Yesterday morning I went into the cell to ask him afew questions; he is not well enough yet to come to me forinterrogation--and indeed, I thought it best not to run any risk ofthe people seeing him until he recovers. Such absurd stories always getabout at once. "

"So you went there to interrogate him?"

"Yes, Your Eminence. I hoped he would be more amenable to reason now. "

Montanelli looked him over deliberately, almost as if he had beeninspecting a new and disagreeable animal. Fortunately, however, theGovernor was fingering his sword-belt, and did not see the look. He wenton placidly:

"I have not subjected him to any particular severities, but I have beenobliged to be rather strict with him--especially as it is a militaryprison--and I thought that perhaps a little indulgence might have agood effect. I offered to relax the discipline considerably if he wouldbehave in a reasonable manner; and how does Your Eminence suppose heanswered me? He lay looking at me a minute, like a wolf in a cage, andthen said quite softly: 'Colonel, I can't get up and strangle you;but my teeth are pretty good; you had better take your throat a littlefurther off. ' He is as savage as a wild-cat. "

"I am not surprised to hear it, " Montanelli answered quietly. "But Icame to ask you a question. Do you honestly believe that the presence ofRivarez in the prison here constitutes a serious danger to the peace ofthe district?"

"Most certainly I do, Your Eminence. "

"You think that, to prevent the risk of bloodshed, it is absolutelynecessary that he should somehow be got rid of before Corpus Domini?"

"I can only repeat that if he is here on Thursday, I do not expect thefestival to pass over without a fight, and I think it likely to be aserious one. "

"And you think that if he were not here there would be no such danger?"

"In that case, there would either be no disturbance at all, or at mosta little shouting and stone-throwing. If Your Eminence can find some wayof getting rid of him, I will undertake that the peace shall be kept. Otherwise, I expect most serious trouble. I am convinced that a newrescue plot is on hand, and Thursday is the day when we may expect theattempt. Now, if on that very morning they suddenly find that he is notin the fortress at all, their plan fails of itself, and they have nooccasion to begin fighting. But if we have to repulse them, and thedaggers once get drawn among such throngs of people, we are likely tohave the place burnt down before nightfall. "

"Then why do you not send him in to Ravenna?"

"Heaven knows, Your Eminence, I should be thankful to do it! But howam I to prevent the people rescuing him on the way? I have not soldiersenough to resist an armed attack; and all these mountaineers have gotknives or flint-locks or some such thing. "

"You still persist, then, in wishing for a court-martial, and in askingmy consent to it?"

"Pardon me, Your Eminence; I ask you only one thing--to help me preventriots and bloodshed. I am quite willing to admit that the militarycommissions, such as that of Colonel Freddi, were sometimesunnecessarily severe, and irritated instead of subduing the people; butI think that in this case a court-martial would be a wise measure andin the long run a merciful one. It would prevent a riot, which in itselfwould be a terrible disaster, and which very likely might cause a returnof the military commissions His Holiness has abolished. "

The Governor finished his little speech with much solemnity, and waitedfor the Cardinal's answer. It was a long time coming; and when it camewas startlingly unexpected. 

"Colonel Ferrari, do you believe in God?"

"Your Eminence!" the colonel gasped in a voice full ofexclamation-stops. 

"Do you believe in God?" Montanelli repeated, rising and looking down athim with steady, searching eyes. The colonel rose too. 

"Your Eminence, I am a Christian man, and have never yet been refusedabsolution. "

Montanelli lifted the cross from his breast. 

"Then swear on the cross of the Redeemer Who died for you, that you havebeen speaking the truth to me. "

The colonel stood still and gazed at it blankly. He could not quite makeup his mind which was mad, he or the Cardinal. 

"You have asked me, " Montanelli went on, "to give my consent to a man'sdeath. Kiss the cross, if you dare, and tell me that you believe thereis no other way to prevent greater bloodshed. And remember that if youtell me a lie you are imperilling your immortal soul. "

After a little pause, the Governor bent down and put the cross to hislips. 

"I believe it, " he said. 

Montanelli turned slowly away. 

"I will give you a definite answer to-morrow. But first I must seeRivarez and speak to him alone. "

"Your Eminence--if I might suggest--I am sure you will regret it. Forthat matter, he sent me a message yesterday, by the guard, asking to seeYour Eminence; but I took no notice of it, because----"

"Took no notice!" Montanelli repeated. "A man in such circumstances sentyou a message, and you took no notice of it?"

"I am sorry if Your Eminence is displeased. I did not wish to troubleyou over a mere impertinence like that; I know Rivarez well enough bynow to feel sure that he only wanted to insult you. And, indeed, ifyou will allow me to say so, it would be most imprudent to go near himalone; he is really dangerous--so much so, in fact, that I have thoughtit necessary to use some physical restraint of a mild kind------"

"And you really think there is much danger to be apprehended from onesick and unarmed man, who is under physical restraint of a mild kind?"Montanelli spoke quite gently, but the colonel felt the sting of hisquiet contempt, and flushed under it resentfully. 

"Your Eminence will do as you think best, " he said in his stiffestmanner. "I only wished to spare you the pain of hearing this man's awfulblasphemies. "

"Which do you think the more grievous misfortune for a Christian man;to hear a blasphemous word uttered, or to abandon a fellow-creature inextremity?"

The Governor stood erect and stiff, with his official face, like a faceof wood. He was deeply offended at Montanelli's treatment of him, andshowed it by unusual ceremoniousness. 

"At what time does Your Eminence wish to visit the prisoner?" he asked. 

"I will go to him at once. "

"As Your Eminence pleases. If you will kindly wait a few moments, I willsend someone to prepare him. "

The Governor had come down from his official pedestal in a great hurry. He did not want Montanelli to see the straps. 

"Thank you; I would rather see him as he is, without preparation. I willgo straight up to the fortress. Good-evening, colonel; you may expect myanswer to-morrow morning. "

CHAPTER VI. 

HEARING the cell-door unlocked, the Gadfly turned away his eyes withlanguid indifference. He supposed that it was only the Governor, comingto worry him with another interrogation. Several soldiers mountedthe narrow stair, their carbines clanking against the wall; then adeferential voice said: "It is rather steep here, Your Eminence. "

He started convulsively, and then shrank down, catching his breath underthe stinging pressure of the straps. 

Montanelli came in with the sergeant and three guards. 

"If Your Eminence will kindly wait a moment, " the sergeant begannervously, "one of my men will bring a chair. He has just gone to fetchit. Your Eminence will excuse us--if we had been expecting you, weshould have been prepared. "

"There is no need for any preparation. Will you kindly leave us alone, sergeant; and wait at the foot of the stairs with your men?"

"Yes, Your Eminence. Here is the chair; shall I put it beside him?"

The Gadfly was lying with closed eyes; but he felt that Montanelli waslooking at him. 

"I think he is asleep, Your Eminence, " the sergeant was beginning, butthe Gadfly opened his eyes. 

"No, " he said. 

As the soldiers were leaving the cell they were stopped by a suddenexclamation from Montanelli; and, turning back, saw that he was bendingdown to examine the straps. 

"Who has been doing this?" he asked. The sergeant fumbled with his cap. 

"It was by the Governor's express orders, Your Eminence. "

"I had no idea of this, Signer Rivarez, " Montanelli said in a voice ofgreat distress. 

"I told Your Eminence, " the Gadfly answered, with his hard smile, "thatI n-n-never expected to be patted on the head. "

"Sergeant, how long has this been going on?"

"Since he tried to escape, Your Eminence. "

"That is, nearly a week? Bring a knife and cut these off at once. "

"May it please Your Eminence, the doctor wanted to take them off, butColonel Ferrari wouldn't allow it. "

"Bring a knife at once. " Montanelli had not raised his voice, but thesoldiers could see that he was white with anger. The sergeant took aclasp-knife from his pocket, and bent down to cut the arm-strap. Hewas not a skilful-fingered man; and he jerked the strap tighter with anawkward movement, so that the Gadfly winced and bit his lip in spite ofall his self-control. Montanelli came forward at once. 

"You don't know how to do it; give me the knife. "

"Ah-h-h!" The Gadfly stretched out his arms with a long, rapturous sighas the strap fell off. The next instant Montanelli had cut the otherone, which bound his ankles. 

"Take off the irons, too, sergeant; and then come here. I want to speakto you. "

He stood by the window, looking on, till the sergeant threw down thefetters and approached him. 

"Now, " he said, "tell me everything that has been happening. "

The sergeant, nothing loath, related all that he knew of theGadfly's illness, of the "disciplinary measures, " and of the doctor'sunsuccessful attempt to interfere. 

"But I think, Your Eminence, " he added, "that the colonel wanted thestraps kept on as a means of getting evidence. "

"Evidence?"

"Yes, Your Eminence; the day before yesterday I heard him offer to havethem taken off if he"--with a glance at the Gadfly--"would answer aquestion he had asked. "

Montanelli clenched his hand on the window-sill, and the soldiersglanced at one another: they had never seen the gentle Cardinal angrybefore. As for the Gadfly, he had forgotten their existence; he hadforgotten everything except the physical sensation of freedom. He wascramped in every limb; and now stretched, and turned, and twisted aboutin a positive ecstasy of relief. 

"You can go now, sergeant, " the Cardinal said. "You need not feelanxious about having committed a breach of discipline; it was your dutyto tell me when I asked you. See that no one disturbs us. I will comeout when I am ready. "

When the door had closed behind the soldiers, he leaned on thewindow-sill and looked for a while at the sinking sun, so as to leavethe Gadfly a little more breathing time. 

"I have heard, " he said presently, leaving the window, and sitting downbeside the pallet, "that you wish to speak to me alone. If you feel wellenough to tell me what you wanted to say, I am at your service. "

He spoke very coldly, with a stiff, imperious manner that was notnatural to him. Until the straps were off, the Gadfly was to him simplya grievously wronged and tortured human being; but now he recalled theirlast interview, and the deadly insult with which it had closed. TheGadfly looked up, resting his head lazily on one arm. He possessedthe gift of slipping into graceful attitudes; and when his face was inshadow no one would have guessed through what deep waters he had beenpassing. But, as he looked up, the clear evening light showed howhaggard and colourless he was, and how plainly the trace of the last fewdays was stamped on him. Montanelli's anger died away. 

"I am afraid you have been terribly ill, " he said. "I am sincerely sorrythat I did not know of all this. I would have put a stop to it before. "

The Gadfly shrugged his shoulders. "All's fair in war, " he said coolly. "Your Eminence objects to straps theoretically, from the Christianstandpoint; but it is hardly fair to expect the colonel to see that. He, no doubt, would prefer not to try them on his own skin--which isj-j-just my case. But that is a matter of p-p-personal convenience. Atthis moment I am undermost--w-w-what would you have? It is very kind ofYour Eminence, though, to call here; but perhaps that was done from theC-c-christian standpoint, too. Visiting prisoners--ah, yes! I forgot. 'Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the l-least of these'--it's not verycomplimentary, but one of the least is duly grateful. "

"Signor Rivarez, " the Cardinal interrupted, "I have come here on youraccount--not on my own. If you had not been 'undermost, ' as you call it, I should never have spoken to you again after what you said to me lastweek; but you have the double privilege of a prisoner and a sick man, and I could not refuse to come. Have you anything to say to me, now I amhere; or have you sent for me merely to amuse yourself by insulting anold man?"

There was no answer. The Gadfly had turned away, and was lying with onehand across his eyes. 

"I am--very sorry to trouble you, " he said at last, huskily; "but couldI have a little water?"

There was a jug of water standing by the window, and Montanelli roseand fetched it. As he slipped his arm round the Gadfly to lift him, hesuddenly felt the damp, cold fingers close over his wrist like a vice. 

"Give me your hand--quick--just a moment, " the Gadfly whispered. "Oh, what difference does it make to you? Only one minute!"

He sank down, hiding his face on Montanelli's arm, and quivering fromhead to foot. 

"Drink a little water, " Montanelli said after a moment. The Gadflyobeyed silently; then lay back on the pallet with closed eyes. Hehimself could have given no explanation of what had happened to him whenMontanelli's hand had touched his cheek; he only knew that in all hislife there had been nothing more terrible. 

Montanelli drew his chair closer to the pallet and sat down. The Gadflywas lying quite motionless, like a corpse, and his face was lividand drawn. After a long silence, he opened his eyes, and fixed theirhaunting, spectral gaze on the Cardinal. 

"Thank you, " he said. "I--am sorry. I think--you asked me something?"

"You are not fit to talk. If there is anything you want to say to me, Iwill try to come again to-morrow. "

"Please don't go, Your Eminence--indeed, there is nothing the matterwith me. I--I have been a little upset these few days; it was half of itmalingering, though--the colonel will tell you so if you ask him. "

"I prefer to form my own conclusions, " Montanelli answered quietly. 

"S-so does the colonel. And occasionally, do you know, they are ratherwitty. You w-w-wouldn't think it to look at him; but s-s-sometimes hegets hold of an or-r-riginal idea. On Friday night, for instance--Ithink it was Friday, but I got a l-little mixed as to time towardsthe end--anyhow, I asked for a d-dose of opium--I remember that quitedistinctly; and he came in here and said I m-might h-h-have it if Iwould tell him who un-l-l-locked the gate. I remember his saying: 'Ifit's real, you'll consent; if you don't, I shall look upon it as ap-proof that you are shamming. ' It n-n-never oc-c-curred to me beforehow comic that is; it's one of the f-f-funniest things----"

He burst into a sudden fit of harsh, discordant laughter; then, turningsharply on the silent Cardinal, went on, more and more hurriedly, andstammering so that the words were hardly intelligible:

"You d-d-don't see that it's f-f-funny? Of c-course not; you r-religiouspeople n-n-never have any s-sense of humour--you t-take everythingt-t-tragically. F-for instance, that night in the Cath-thedral--howsolemn you were! By the way--w-what a path-thetic figure I musthave c-cut as the pilgrim! I d-don't believe you e-even see anythingc-c-comic in the b-business you have c-come about this evening. "

Montanelli rose. 

"I came to hear what you have to say; but I think you are too muchexcited to say it to-night. The doctor had better give you a sedative, and we will talk to-morrow, when you have had a night's sleep. "

"S-sleep? Oh, I shall s-sleep well enough, Your Eminence, when youg-give your c-consent to the colonel's plan--an ounce of l-lead is as-splendid sedative. "

"I don't understand you, " Montanelli said, turning to him with astartled look. 

The Gadfly burst out laughing again. 

"Your Eminence, Your Eminence, t-t-truth is the c-chief of the Christianvirtues! D-d-do you th-th-think I d-d-don't know how hard the Governorhas been trying to g-get your consent to a court-martial? You hadb-better by half g-give it, Your Eminence; it's only w-what all yourb-brother prelates would do in your place. 'Cosi fan tutti;' and thenyou would be doing s-such a lot of good, and so l-little harm! Really, it's n-not worth all the sleepless nights you have been spending overit!"

"Please stop laughing a minute, " Montanelli interrupted, "and tell mehow you heard all this. Who has been talking to you about it?"

"H-hasn't the colonel e-e-ever told you I am a d-d-devil--not a man? No?He has t-told me so often enough! Well, I am devil enough to f-findout a little bit what p-people are thinking about. Your E-eminence isthinking that I'm a conf-founded nuisance, and you wish s-somebodyelse had to settle what's to be done with me, without disturbing yours-sensitive conscience. That's a p-pretty fair guess, isn't it?"

"Listen to me, " the Cardinal said, sitting down again beside him, witha very grave face. "However you found out all this, it is quite true. Colonel Ferrari fears another rescue attempt on the part of yourfriends, and wishes to forestall it in--the way you speak of. You see, Iam quite frank with you. "

"Your E-eminence was always f-f-famous for truthfulness, " the Gadfly putin bitterly. 

"You know, of course, " Montanelli went on, "that legally I have nojurisdiction in temporal matters; I am a bishop, not a legate. But Ihave a good deal of influence in this district; and the colonel willnot, I think, venture to take so extreme a course unless he can get, at least, my tacit consent to it. Up till now I have unconditionallyopposed the scheme; and he has been trying very hard to conquer myobjection by assuring me that there is great danger of an armed attempton Thursday when the crowd collects for the procession--an attempt whichprobably would end in bloodshed. Do you follow me?"

The Gadfly was staring absently out of the window. He looked round andanswered in a weary voice:

"Yes, I am listening. "

"Perhaps you are really not well enough to stand this conversationto-night. Shall I come back in the morning? It is a very serious matter, and I want your whole attention. "

"I would rather get it over now, " the Gadfly answered in the same tone. "I follow everything you say. "

"Now, if it be true, " Montanelli went on, "that there is any real dangerof riots and bloodshed on account of you, I am taking upon myself atremendous responsibility in opposing the colonel; and I believe thereis at least some truth in what he says. On the other hand, I am inclinedto think that his judgment is warped, to a certain extent, by hispersonal animosity against you, and that he probably exaggerates thedanger. That seems to me the more likely since I have seen this shamefulbrutality. " He glanced at the straps and chains lying on the floor, andwent on:

"If I consent, I kill you; if I refuse, I run the risk of killinginnocent persons. I have considered the matter earnestly, and havesought with all my heart for a way out of this dreadful alternative. Andnow at last I have made up my mind. "

"To kill me and s-save the innocent persons, of course--the onlydecision a Christian man could possibly come to. 'If thy r-right handoffend thee, ' etc. I have n-not the honour to be the right hand of YourEminence, and I have offended you; the c-c-conclusion is plain. Couldn'tyou tell me that without so much preamble?"

The Gadfly spoke with languid indifference and contempt, like a manweary of the whole subject. 

"Well?" he added after a little pause. "Was that the decision, YourEminence?"

"No. "

The Gadfly shifted his position, putting both hands behind his head, andlooked at Montanelli with half-shut eyes. The Cardinal, with his headsunk down as in deep thought, was softly beating one hand on the arm ofhis chair. Ah, that old, familiar gesture!

"I have decided, " he said, raising his head at last, "to do, I suppose, an utterly unprecedented thing. When I heard that you had asked to seeme, I resolved to come here and tell you everything, as I have done, andto place the matter in your own hands. "

"In--my hands?"

"Signor Rivarez, I have not come to you as cardinal, or as bishop, oras judge; I have come to you as one man to another. I do not ask you totell me whether you know of any such scheme as the colonel apprehends. I understand quite well that, if you do, it is your secret and you willnot tell it. But I do ask you to put yourself in my place. I am old, and, no doubt, have not much longer to live. I would go down to my gravewithout blood on my hands. "

"Is there none on them as yet, Your Eminence?"

Montanelli grew a shade paler, but went on quietly:

"All my life I have opposed repressive measures and cruelty wherever Ihave met with them. I have always disapproved of capital punishment inall its forms; I have protested earnestly and repeatedly against themilitary commissions in the last reign, and have been out of favouron account of doing so. Up till now such influence and power as I havepossessed have always been employed on the side of mercy. I ask you tobelieve me, at least, that I am speaking the truth. Now, I am placed inthis dilemma. By refusing, I am exposing the town to the danger ofriots and all their consequences; and this to save the life of a manwho blasphemes against my religion, who has slandered and wronged andinsulted me personally (though that is comparatively a trifle), and who, as I firmly believe, will put that life to a bad use when it is given tohim. But--it is to save a man's life. "

He paused a moment, and went on again:

"Signor Rivarez, everything that I know of your career seems to me badand mischievous; and I have long believed you to be reckless and violentand unscrupulous. To some extent I hold that opinion of you still. Butduring this last fortnight you have shown me that you are a brave manand that you can be faithful to your friends. You have made the soldierslove and admire you, too; and not every man could have done that. I think that perhaps I have misjudged you, and that there is in yousomething better than what you show outside. To that better self inyou I appeal, and solemnly entreat you, on your conscience, to tell metruthfully--in my place, what would you do?"

A long silence followed; then the Gadfly looked up. 

"At least, I would decide my own actions for myself, and take theconsequences of them. I would not come sneaking to other people, in thecowardly Christian way, asking them to solve my problems for me!"

The onslaught was so sudden, and its extraordinary vehemence and passionwere in such startling contrast to the languid affectation of a momentbefore, that it was as though he had thrown off a mask. 

"We atheists, " he went on fiercely, "understand that if a man has athing to bear, he must bear it as best he can; and if he sinks underit--why, so much the worse for him. But a Christian comes whining to hisGod, or his saints; or, if they won't help him, to his enemies--he canalways find a back to shift his burdens on to. Isn't there a rule to goby in your Bible, or your Missal, or any of your canting theology books, that you must come to me to tell you what to do? Heavens and earth, man!Haven't I enough as it is, without your laying your responsibilities onmy shoulders? Go back to your Jesus; he exacted the uttermost farthing, and you'd better do the same. After all, you'll only be killing anatheist--a man who boggles over 'shibboleth'; and that's no great crime, surely!"

He broke off, panting for breath, and then burst out again:

"And YOU to talk of cruelty! Why, that p-p-pudding-headed ass couldn'thurt me as much as you do if he tried for a year; he hasn't got thebrains. All he can think of is to pull a strap tight, and when he can'tget it any tighter he's at the end of his resources. Any fool cando that! But you---- 'Sign your own death sentence, please; I'm tootender-hearted to do it myself. ' Oh! it would take a Christian to hit onthat--a gentle, compassionate Christian, that turns pale at the sight ofa strap pulled too tight! I might have known when you came in, like anangel of mercy--so shocked at the colonel's 'barbarity'--that the realthing was going to begin! Why do you look at me that way? Consent, man, of course, and go home to your dinner; the thing's not worth all thisfuss. Tell your colonel he can have me shot, or hanged, or whatevercomes handiest--roasted alive, if it's any amusement to him--and be donewith it!"

The Gadfly was hardly recognizable; he was beside himself with rageand desperation, panting and quivering, his eyes glittering with greenreflections like the eyes of an angry cat. 

Montanelli had risen, and was looking down at him silently. He did notunderstand the drift of the frenzied reproaches, but he understood outof what extremity they were uttered; and, understanding that, forgaveall past insults. 

"Hush!" he said. "I did not want to hurt you so. Indeed, I never meantto shift my burden on to you, who have too much already. I have neverconsciously done that to any living creature----"

"It's a lie!" the Gadfly cried out with blazing eyes. "And thebishopric?"

"The--bishopric?"

"Ah! you've forgotten that? It's so easy to forget! 'If you wish it, Arthur, I will say I cannot go. I was to decide your life for you--I, atnineteen! If it weren't so hideous, it would be funny. "

"Stop!" Montanelli put up both hands to his head with a desperate cry. He let them fall again, and walked slowly away to the window. Therehe sat down on the sill, resting one arm on the bars, and pressing hisforehead against it. The Gadfly lay and watched him, trembling. 

Presently Montanelli rose and came back, with lips as pale as ashes. 

"I am very sorry, " he said, struggling piteously to keep up his usualquiet manner, "but I must go home. I--am not quite well. "

He was shivering as if with ague. All the Gadfly's fury broke down. 

"Padre, can't you see----"

Montanelli shrank away, and stood still. 

"Only not that!" he whispered at last. "My God, anything but that! If Iam going mad----"

The Gadfly raised himself on one arm, and took the shaking hands in his. 

"Padre, will you never understand that I am not really drowned?"

The hands grew suddenly cold and stiff. For a moment everything was deadwith silence, and then Montanelli knelt down and hid his face on theGadfly's breast. 

 *****

When he raised his head the sun had set, and the red glow was dying inthe west. They had forgotten time and place, and life and death; theyhad forgotten, even, that they were enemies. 

"Arthur, " Montanelli whispered, "are you real? Have you come back to mefrom the dead?"

"From the dead----" the Gadfly repeated, shivering. He was lying withhis head on Montanelli's arm, as a sick child might lie in its mother'sembrace. 

"You have come back--you have come back at last!"

The Gadfly sighed heavily. "Yes, " he said; "and you have to fight me, orto kill me. "

"Oh, hush, carino! What is all that now? We have been like two childrenlost in the dark, mistaking one another for phantoms. Now we have foundeach other, and have come out into the light. My poor boy, how changedyou are--how changed you are! You look as if all the ocean of theworld's misery had passed over your head--you that used to be so full ofthe joy of life! Arthur, is it really you? I have dreamed so often thatyou had come back to me; and then have waked and seen the outer darknessstaring in upon an empty place. How can I know I shall not wake againand find it all a dream? Give me something tangible--tell me how it allhappened. "

"It happened simply enough. I hid on a goods vessel, as stowaway, andgot out to South America. "

"And there?"

"There I--lived, if you like to call it so, till--oh, I have seensomething else besides theological seminaries since you used to teach mephilosophy! You say you have dreamed of me--yes, and much! You say youhave dreamed of me--yes, and I of you----"

He broke off, shuddering. 

"Once, " he began again abruptly, "I was working at a mine inEcuador----"

"Not as a miner?"

"No, as a miner's fag--odd-jobbing with the coolies. We had a barrack tosleep in at the pit's mouth; and one night--I had been ill, the sameas lately, and carrying stones in the blazing sun--I must have gotlight-headed, for I saw you come in at the door-way. You were holding acrucifix like that one on the wall. You were praying, and brushed pastme without turning. I cried out to you to help me--to give me poisonor a knife--something to put an end to it all before I went mad. Andyou--ah------!"

He drew one hand across his eyes. Montanelli was still clasping theother. 

"I saw in your face that you had heard, but you never looked round;you went on with your prayers. When you had finished, and kissed thecrucifix, you glanced round and whispered: 'I am very sorry for you, Arthur; but I daren't show it; He would be angry. ' And I looked at Him, and the wooden image was laughing. 

"Then, when I came to my senses, and saw the barrack and the coolieswith their leprosy, I understood. I saw that you care more to curryfavour with that devilish God of yours than to save me from any hell. And I have remembered that. I forgot just now when you touched me;I--have been ill, and I used to love you once. But there can be nothingbetween us but war, and war, and war. What do you want to hold my handfor? Can't you see that while you believe in your Jesus we can't beanything but enemies?"

Montanelli bent his head and kissed the mutilated hand. 

"Arthur, how can I help believing in Him? If I have kept my faiththrough all these frightful years, how can I ever doubt Him any more, now that He has given you back to me? Remember, I thought I had killedyou. "

"You have that still to do. "

"Arthur!" It was a cry of actual terror; but the Gadfly went on, unheeding:

"Let us be honest, whatever we do, and not shilly-shally. You and Istand on two sides of a pit, and it's hopeless trying to join handsacross it. If you have decided that you can't, or won't, give up thatthing"--he glanced again at the crucifix on the wall--"you must consentto what the colonel----"

"Consent! My God--consent--Arthur, but I love you!"

The Gadfly's face contracted fearfully. 

"Which do you love best, me or that thing?"

Montanelli slowly rose. The very soul in him withered with dread, andhe seemed to shrivel up bodily, and to grow feeble, and old, and wilted, like a leaf that the frost has touched. He had awaked out of his dream, and the outer darkness was staring in upon an empty place. 

"Arthur, have just a little mercy on me----"

"How much had you for me when your lies drove me out to be slave tothe blacks on the sugar-plantations? You shudder at that--ah, thesetender-hearted saints! This is the man after God's own heart--the manthat repents of his sin and lives. No one dies but his son. You say youlove me, --your love has cost me dear enough! Do you think I can blot outeverything, and turn back into Arthur at a few soft words--I, that havebeen dish-washer in filthy half-caste brothels and stable-boy to Creolefarmers that were worse brutes than their own cattle? I, that havebeen zany in cap and bells for a strolling variety show--drudge andJack-of-all-trades to the matadors in the bull-fighting ring; I, thathave been slave to every black beast who cared to set his foot on myneck; I, that have been starved and spat upon and trampled under foot;I, that have begged for mouldy scraps and been refused because the dogshad the first right? Oh, what is the use of all this! How can I TELL youwhat you have brought on me? And now--you love me! How much do you loveme? Enough to give up your God for me? Oh, what has He done for you, this everlasting Jesus, --what has He suffered for you, that you shouldlove Him more than me? Is it for the pierced hands He is so dear to you?Look at mine! Look here, and here, and here----"

He tore open his shirt and showed the ghastly scars. 

"Padre, this God of yours is an impostor, His wounds are sham wounds, His pain is all a farce! It is I that have the right to your heart!Padre, there is no torture you have not put me to; if you could onlyknow what my life has been! And yet I would not die! I have endured itall, and have possessed my soul in patience, because I would comeback and fight this God of yours. I have held this purpose as a shieldagainst my heart, and it has saved me from madness, and from the seconddeath. And now, when I come back, I find Him still in my place--thissham victim that was crucified for six hours, forsooth, and rose againfrom the dead! Padre, I have been crucified for five years, and I, too, have risen from the dead. What are you going to do with me? What are yougoing to do with me?"

He broke down. Montanelli sat like some stone image, or like a dead manset upright. At first, under the fiery torrent of the Gadfly's despair, he had quivered a little, with the automatic shrinking of the flesh, as under the lash of a whip; but now he was quite still. After a longsilence he looked up and spoke, lifelessly, patiently:

"Arthur, will you explain to me more clearly? You confuse and terrify meso, I can't understand. What is it you demand of me?"

The Gadfly turned to him a spectral face. 

"I demand nothing. Who shall compel love? You are free to choose betweenus two the one who is most dear to you. If you love Him best, chooseHim. "

"I can't understand, " Montanelli repeated wearily. "What is there I canchoose? I cannot undo the past. "

"You have to choose between us. If you love me, take that cross off yourneck and come away with me. My friends are arranging another attempt, and with your help they could manage it easily. Then, when we are safeover the frontier, acknowledge me publicly. But if you don't love meenough for that, --if this wooden idol is more to you than I, --then goto the colonel and tell him you consent. And if you go, then go at once, and spare me the misery of seeing you. I have enough without that. "

Montanelli looked up, trembling faintly. He was beginning to understand. 

"I will communicate with your friends, of course. But--to go withyou--it is impossible--I am a priest. "

"And I accept no favours from priests. I will have no more compromises, Padre; I have had enough of them, and of their consequences. You mustgive up your priesthood, or you must give up me. "

"How can I give you up? Arthur, how can I give you up?"

"Then give up Him. You have to choose between us. Would you offer me ashare of your love--half for me, half for your fiend of a God? I willnot take His leavings. If you are His, you are not mine. "

"Would you have me tear my heart in two? Arthur! Arthur! Do you want todrive me mad?"

The Gadfly struck his hand against the wall. 

"You have to choose between us, " he repeated once more. 

Montanelli drew from his breast a little case containing a bit of soiledand crumpled paper. 

"Look!" he said. 

"I believed in you, as I believed in God. God is a thing made of clay, that I can smash with a hammer; and you have fooled me with a lie. "

The Gadfly laughed and handed it back. "How d-d-delightfully young oneis at nineteen! To take a hammer and smash things seems so easy. It'sthat now--only it's I that am under the hammer. As for you, there areplenty of other people you can fool with lies--and they won't even findyou out. "

"As you will, " Montanelli said. "Perhaps in your place I should be asmerciless as you--God knows. I can't do what you ask, Arthur; but I willdo what I can. I will arrange your escape, and when you are safe I willhave an accident in the mountains, or take the wrong sleeping-draught bymistake--whatever you like to choose. Will that content you? It is allI can do. It is a great sin; but I think He will forgive me. He is moremerciful------"

The Gadfly flung out both hands with a sharp cry. 

"Oh, that is too much! That is too much! What have I done that youshould think of me that way? What right have you---- As if I wanted tobe revenged on you! Can't you see that I only want to save you? Will younever understand that I love you?"

He caught hold of Montanelli's hands and covered them with burningkisses and tears. 

"Padre, come away with us! What have you to do with this dead world ofpriests and idols? They are full of the dust of bygone ages; they arerotten; they are pestilent and foul! Come out of this plague-strickenChurch--come away with us into the light! Padre, it is we that are lifeand youth; it is we that are the everlasting springtime; it is we thatare the future! Padre, the dawn is close upon us--will you missyour part in the sunrise? Wake up, and let us forget the horriblenightmares, --wake up, and we will begin our life again! Padre, I havealways loved you--always, even when you killed me--will you kill meagain?"

Montanelli tore his hands away. "Oh, God have mercy on me!" he criedout. "YOU HAVE YOUR MOTHER'S EYES!"

A strange silence, long and deep and sudden, fell upon them both. In thegray twilight they looked at each other, and their hearts stood stillwith fear. 

"Have you anything more to say?" Montanelli whispered. "Any--hope togive me?"

"No. My life is of no use to me except to fight priests. I am not a man;I am a knife. If you let me live, you sanction knives. "

Montanelli turned to the crucifix. "God! Listen to this----"

His voice died away into the empty stillness without response. Only themocking devil awoke again in the Gadfly. 

"'C-c-call him louder; perchance he s-s-sleepeth'----"

Montanelli started up as if he had been struck. For a moment he stoodlooking straight before him;--then he sat down on the edge of thepallet, covered his face with both hands, and burst into tears. A longshudder passed through the Gadfly, and the damp cold broke out on hisbody. He knew what the tears meant. 

He drew the blanket over his head that he might not hear. It was enoughthat he had to die--he who was so vividly, magnificently alive. But hecould not shut out the sound; it rang in his ears, it beat in his brain, it throbbed in all his pulses. And still Montanelli sobbed and sobbed, and the tears dripped down between his fingers. 

He left off sobbing at last, and dried his eyes with his handkerchief, like a child that has been crying. As he stood up the handkerchiefslipped from his knee and fell to the floor. 

"There is no use in talking any more, " he said. "You understand?"

"I understand, " the Gadfly answered, with dull submission. "It's notyour fault. Your God is hungry, and must be fed. "

Montanelli turned towards him. The grave that was to be dug was not morestill than they were. Silent, they looked into each other's eyes, as twolovers, torn apart, might gaze across the barrier they cannot pass. 

It was the Gadfly whose eyes sank first. He shrank down, hiding hisface; and Montanelli understood that the gesture meant "Go!" He turned, and went out of the cell. A moment later the Gadfly started up. 

"Oh, I can't bear it! Padre, come back! Come back!"

The door was shut. He looked around him slowly, with a wide, still gaze, and understood that all was over. The Galilean had conquered. 

All night long the grass waved softly in the courtyard below--the grassthat was so soon to wither, uprooted by the spade; and all night longthe Gadfly lay alone in the darkness, and sobbed. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE court-martial was held on Tuesday morning. It was a very short andsimple affair; a mere formality, occupying barely twenty minutes. Therewas, indeed, nothing to spend much time over; no defence was allowed, and the only witnesses were the wounded spy and officer and a fewsoldiers. The sentence was drawn up beforehand; Montanelli had sent inthe desired informal consent; and the judges (Colonel Ferrari, the localmajor of dragoons, and two officers of the Swiss guards) had little todo. The indictment was read aloud, the witnesses gave their evidence, and the signatures were affixed to the sentence, which was then read tothe condemned man with befitting solemnity. He listened in silence; andwhen asked, according to the usual form, whether he had anything to say, merely waved the question aside with an impatient movement of his hand. Hidden on his breast was the handkerchief which Montanelli had let fall. It had been kissed and wept over all night, as though it were a livingthing. Now he looked wan and spiritless, and the traces of tears werestill about his eyelids; but the words: "to be shot, " did not seem toaffect him much. When they were uttered, the pupils of his eyes dilated, but that was all. 

"Take him back to his cell, " the Governor said, when all the formalitieswere over; and the sergeant, who was evidently near to breaking down, touched the motionless figure on the shoulder. The Gadfly looked roundhim with a little start. 

"Ah, yes!" he said. "I forgot. "

There was something almost like pity in the Governor's face. He was nota cruel man by nature, and was secretly a little ashamed of the parthe had been playing during the last month. Now that his main point wasgained he was willing to make every little concession in his power. 

"You needn't put the irons on again, " he said, glancing at the bruisedand swollen wrists. "And he can stay in his own cell. The condemned cellis wretchedly dark and gloomy, " he added, turning to his nephew; "andreally the thing's a mere formality. "

He coughed and shifted his feet in evident embarrassment; then calledback the sergeant, who was leaving the room with his prisoner. 

"Wait, sergeant; I want to speak to him. "

The Gadfly did not move, and the Governor's voice seemed to fall onunresponsive ears. 

"If you have any message you would like conveyed to your friends orrelatives---- You have relatives, I suppose?"

There was no answer. 

"Well, think it over and tell me, or the priest. I will see it is notneglected. You had better give your messages to the priest; he shallcome at once, and stay the night with you. If there is any otherwish----"

The Gadfly looked up. 

"Tell the priest I would rather be alone. I have no friends and nomessages. "

"But you will want to confess. "

"I am an atheist. I want nothing but to be left in peace. "

He said it in a dull, quiet voice, without defiance or irritation; andturned slowly away. At the door he stopped again. 

"I forgot, colonel; there is a favour I wanted to ask. Don't let themtie me or bandage my eyes to-morrow, please. I will stand quite still. "

 *****

At sunrise on Wednesday morning they brought him out into the courtyard. His lameness was more than usually apparent, and he walked with evidentdifficulty and pain, leaning heavily on the sergeant's arm; but all theweary submission had gone out of his face. The spectral terrors thathad crushed him down in the empty silence, the visions and dreams of theworld of shadows, were gone with the night which gave them birth; andonce the sun was shining and his enemies were present to rouse thefighting spirit in him, he was not afraid. 

The six carabineers who had been told off for the execution were drawnup in line against the ivied wall; the same crannied and crumbling walldown which he had climbed on the night of his unlucky attempt. Theycould hardly refrain from weeping as they stood together, each man withhis carbine in his hand. It seemed to them a horror beyond imaginationthat they should be called out to kill the Gadfly. He and his stingingrepartees, his perpetual laughter, his bright, infectious courage, hadcome into their dull and dreary lives like a wandering sunbeam; and thathe should die, and at their hands, was to them as the darkening of theclear lamps of heaven. 

Under the great fig-tree in the courtyard, his grave was waiting forhim. It had been dug in the night by unwilling hands; and tears hadfallen on the spade. As he passed he looked down, smiling, at the blackpit and the withering grass beside it; and drew a long breath, to smellthe scent of the freshly turned earth. 

Near the tree the sergeant stopped short, and the Gadfly looked roundwith his brightest smile. 

"Shall I stand here, sergeant?"

The man nodded silently; there was a lump in his throat, and hecould not have spoken to save his life. The Governor, his nephew, thelieutenant of carabineers who was to command, a doctor and a priestwere already in the courtyard, and came forward with grave faces, halfabashed under the radiant defiance of the Gadfly's laughing eyes. 

"G-good morning, gentlemen! Ah, and his reverence is up so early, too!How do you do, captain? This is a pleasanter occasion for you than ourformer meeting, isn't it? I see your arm is still in a sling;that's because I bungled my work. These good fellows will do theirsbetter--won't you, lads?"

He glanced round at the gloomy faces of the carabineers. 

"There'll be no need of slings this time, any way. There, there, youneedn't look so doleful over it! Put your heels together and show howstraight you can shoot. Before long there'll be more work cut outfor you than you'll know how to get through, and there's nothing likepractice beforehand. "

"My son, " the priest interrupted, coming forward, while the others drewback to leave them alone together; "in a few minutes you must enter intothe presence of your Maker. Have you no other use but this for theselast moments that are left you for repentance? Think, I entreat you, how dreadful a thing it is to die without absolution, with all your sinsupon your head. When you stand before your Judge it will be too late torepent. Will you approach His awful throne with a jest upon your lips?"

"A jest, your reverence? It is your side that needs that little homily, I think. When our turn comes we shall use field-guns instead of half adozen second-hand carbines, and then you'll see how much we're in jest. "

"YOU will use field-guns! Oh, unhappy man! Have you still not realizedon what frightful brink you stand?"

The Gadfly glanced back over his shoulder at the open grave. 

"And s-s-so your reverence thinks that, when you have put me down there, you will have done with me? Perhaps you will lay a stone on the top topre-v-vent a r-resurrection 'after three days'? No fear, your reverence!I shan't poach on the monopoly in cheap theatricals; I shall lie asstill as a m-mouse, just where you put me. And all the same, WE shalluse field-guns. "

"Oh, merciful God, " the priest cried out; "forgive this wretched man!"

"Amen!" murmured the lieutenant of carabineers, in a deep bass growl, while the colonel and his nephew crossed themselves devoutly. 

As there was evidently no hope of further insistence producing anyeffect, the priest gave up the fruitless attempt and moved aside, shaking his head and murmuring a prayer. The short and simplepreparations were made without more delay, and the Gadfly placed himselfin the required position, only turning his head to glance up for amoment at the red and yellow splendour of the sunrise. He had repeatedthe request that his eyes might not be bandaged, and his defiant facehad wrung from the colonel a reluctant consent. They had both forgottenwhat they were inflicting on the soldiers. 

He stood and faced them, smiling, and the carbines shook in their hands. 

"I am quite ready, " he said. 

The lieutenant stepped forward, trembling a little with excitement. Hehad never given the word of command for an execution before. 

"Ready--present--fire!"

The Gadfly staggered a little and recovered his balance. One unsteadyshot had grazed his cheek, and a little blood fell on to the whitecravat. Another ball had struck him above the knee. When the smokecleared away the soldiers looked and saw him smiling still and wipingthe blood from his cheek with the mutilated hand

"A bad shot, men!" he said; and his voice cut in, clear and articulate, upon the dazed stupor of the wretched soldiers. "Have another try. "

A general groan and shudder passed through the row of carabineers. Eachman had aimed aside, with a secret hope that the death-shot would comefrom his neighbour's hand, not his; and there the Gadfly stood andsmiled at them; they had only turned the execution into a butchery, andthe whole ghastly business was to do again. They were seized with suddenterror, and, lowering their carbines, listened hopelessly to the furiouscurses and reproaches of the officers, staring in dull horror at the manwhom they had killed and who somehow was not dead. 

The Governor shook his fist in their faces, savagely shouting to themto stand in position, to present arms, to make haste and get the thingover. He had become as thoroughly demoralized as they were, and darednot look at the terrible figure that stood, and stood, and would notfall. When the Gadfly spoke to him he started and shuddered at the soundof the mocking voice. 

"You have brought out the awkward squad this morning, colonel! Let mesee if I can manage them better. Now, men! Hold your tool higher there, you to the left. Bless your heart, man, it's a carbine you've gotin your hand, not a frying-pan! Are you all straight? Now then!Ready--present----"

"Fire!" the colonel interrupted, starting forward. It was intolerablethat this man should give the command for his own death. 

There was another confused, disorganized volley, and the line broke upinto a knot of shivering figures, staring before them with wild eyes. One of the soldiers had not even discharged his carbine; he had flung itaway, and crouched down, moaning under his breath: "I can't--I can't!"

The smoke cleared slowly away, floating up into the glimmer of the earlysunlight; and they saw that the Gadfly had fallen; and saw, too, that hewas still not dead. For the first moment soldiers and officials stoodas if they had been turned to stone, and watched the ghastly thing thatwrithed and struggled on the ground; then both doctor and colonel rushedforward with a cry, for he had dragged himself up on one knee and wasstill facing the soldiers, and still laughing. 

"Another miss! Try--again, lads--see--if you can't----"

He suddenly swayed and fell over sideways on the grass. 

"Is he dead?" the colonel asked under his breath; and the doctor, kneeling down, with a hand on the bloody shirt, answered softly:

"I think so--God be praised!"

"God be praised!" the colonel repeated. "At last!"

His nephew was touching him on the arm. 

"Uncle! It's the Cardinal! He's at the gate and wants to come in. "

"What? He can't come in--I won't have it! What are the guards about?Your Eminence----"

The gate had opened and shut, and Montanelli was standing in thecourtyard, looking before him with still and awful eyes. 

"Your Eminence! I must beg of you--this is not a fit sight for you! Theexecution is only just over; the body is not yet----"

"I have come to look at him, " Montanelli said. Even at the momentit struck the Governor that his voice and bearing were those of asleep-walker. 

"Oh, my God!" one of the soldiers cried out suddenly; and the Governorglanced hastily back. Surely------

The blood-stained heap on the grass had once more begun to struggle andmoan. The doctor flung himself down and lifted the head upon his knee. 

"Make haste!" he cried in desperation. "You savages, make haste! Get itover, for God's sake! There's no bearing this!"

Great jets of blood poured over his hands, and the convulsions of thefigure that he held in his arms shook him, too, from head to foot. As helooked frantically round for help, the priest bent over his shoulder andput a crucifix to the lips of the dying man. 

"In the name of the Father and of the Son----"

The Gadfly raised himself against the doctor's knee, and, with wide-openeyes, looked straight upon the crucifix. 

Slowly, amid hushed and frozen stillness, he lifted the broken righthand and pushed away the image. There was a red smear across its face. 

"Padre--is your--God--satisfied?"

His head fell back on the doctor's arm. 

 *****

"Your Eminence!"

As the Cardinal did not awake from his stupor, Colonel Ferrari repeated, louder:

"Your Eminence!"

Montanelli looked up. 

"He is dead. "

"Quite dead, your Eminence. Will you not come away? This is a horriblesight. "

"He is dead, " Montanelli repeated, and looked down again at the face. "Itouched him; and he is dead. "

"What does he expect a man to be with half a dozen bullets in him?" thelieutenant whispered contemptuously; and the doctor whispered back. "Ithink the sight of the blood has upset him. "

The Governor put his hand firmly on Montanelli's arm. 

"Your Eminence--you had better not look at him any longer. Will youallow the chaplain to escort you home?"

"Yes--I will go. "

He turned slowly from the blood-stained spot and walked away, the priestand sergeant following. At the gate he paused and looked back, with aghostlike, still surprise. 

"He is dead. "

 *****

A few hours later Marcone went up to a cottage on the hillside to tellMartini that there was no longer any need for him to throw away hislife. 

All the preparations for a second attempt at rescue were ready, as theplot was much more simple than the former one. It had been arranged thaton the following morning, as the Corpus Domini procession passed alongthe fortress hill, Martini should step forward out of the crowd, draw apistol from his breast, and fire in the Governor's face. In the momentof wild confusion which would follow twenty armed men were to make asudden rush at the gate, break into the tower, and, taking the turnkeywith them by force, to enter the prisoner's cell and carry him bodilyaway, killing or overpowering everyone who interfered with them. Fromthe gate they were to retire fighting, and cover the retreat of a secondband of armed and mounted smugglers, who would carry him off into a safehiding-place in the hills. The only person in the little group who knewnothing of the plan was Gemma; it had been kept from her at Martini'sspecial desire. "She will break her heart over it soon enough, " he hadsaid. 

As the smuggler came in at the garden gate Martini opened the glass doorand stepped out on to the verandah to meet him. 

"Any news, Marcone? Ah!"

The smuggler had pushed back his broad-brimmed straw hat. 

They sat down together on the verandah. Not a word was spoken on eitherside. From the instant when Martini had caught sight of the face underthe hat-brim he had understood. 

"When was it?" he asked after a long pause; and his own voice, in hisears, was as dull and wearisome as everything else. 

"This morning, at sunrise. The sergeant told me. He was there and sawit. "

Martini looked down and flicked a stray thread from his coat-sleeve. 

Vanity of vanities; this also is vanity. He was to have died to-morrow. And now the land of his heart's desire had vanished, like the fairylandof golden sunset dreams that fades away when the darkness comes; and hewas driven back into the world of every day and every night--theworld of Grassini and Galli, of ciphering and pamphleteering, of partysquabbles between comrades and dreary intrigues among Austrian spies--ofthe old revolutionary mill-round that maketh the heart sick. Andsomewhere down at the bottom of his consciousness there was a greatempty place; a place that nothing and no one would fill any more, nowthat the Gadfly was dead. 

Someone was asking him a question, and he raised his head, wonderingwhat could be left that was worth the trouble of talking about. 

"What did you say?"

"I was saying that of course you will break the news to her. "

Life, and all the horror of life, came back into Martini's face. 

"How can I tell her?" he cried out. "You might as well ask me to go andstab her. Oh, how can I tell her--how can I!"

He had clasped both hands over his eyes; but, without seeing, he feltthe smuggler start beside him, and looked up. Gemma was standing in thedoorway. 

"Have you heard, Cesare?" she said. "It is all over. They have shothim. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

"INTROIBO ad altare Dei. " Montanelli stood before the high altar amonghis ministers and acolytes and read the Introit aloud in steady tones. All the Cathedral was a blaze of light and colour; from the holidaydresses of the congregation to the pillars with their flaming draperiesand wreaths of flowers there was no dull spot in it. Over the openspaces of the doorway fell great scarlet curtains, through whose foldsthe hot June sunlight glowed, as through the petals of red poppies ina corn-field. The religious orders with their candles and torches, thecompanies of the parishes with their crosses and flags, lighted up thedim side-chapels; and in the aisles the silken folds of the processionalbanners drooped, their gilded staves and tassels glinting under thearches. The surplices of the choristers gleamed, rainbow-tinted, beneaththe coloured windows; the sunlight lay on the chancel floor inchequered stains of orange and purple and green. Behind the altar hunga shimmering veil of silver tissue; and against the veil and thedecorations and the altar-lights the Cardinal's figure stood out in itstrailing white robes like a marble statue that had come to life. 

As was customary on processional days, he was only to preside at theMass, not to celebrate, so at the end of the Indulgentiam he turnedfrom the altar and walked slowly to the episcopal throne, celebrant andministers bowing low as he passed. 

"I'm afraid His Eminence is not well, " one of the canons whispered tohis neighbour; "he seems so strange. "

Montanelli bent his head to receive the jewelled mitre. The priest whowas acting as deacon of honour put it on, looked at him for an instant, then leaned forward and whispered softly:

"Your Eminence, are you ill?"

Montanelli turned slightly towards him. There was no recognition in hiseyes. 

"Pardon, Your Eminence!" the priest whispered, as he made a genuflexionand went back to his place, reproaching himself for having interruptedthe Cardinal's devotions. 

The familiar ceremony went on; and Montanelli sat erect and still, hisglittering mitre and gold-brocaded vestments flashing back the sunlight, and the heavy folds of his white festival mantle sweeping down over thered carpet. The light of a hundred candles sparkled among the sapphireson his breast, and shone into the deep, still eyes that had no answeringgleam; and when, at the words: "Benedicite, pater eminentissime, "he stooped to bless the incense, and the sunbeams played among thediamonds, he might have recalled some splendid and fearful ice-spiritof the mountains, crowned with rainbows and robed in drifted snow, scattering, with extended hands, a shower of blessings or of curses. 

At the elevation of the Host he descended from his throne and kneltbefore the altar. There was a strange, still evenness about all hismovements; and as he rose and went back to his place the major ofdragoons, who was sitting in gala uniform behind the Governor, whisperedto the wounded captain: "The old Cardinal's breaking, not a doubt of it. He goes through his work like a machine. "

"So much the better!" the captain whispered back. "He's been nothing buta mill-stone round all our necks ever since that confounded amnesty. "

"He did give in, though, about the court-martial. "

"Yes, at last; but he was a precious time making up his mind to. Heavens, how close it is! We shall all get sun-stroke in the procession. It's a pity we're not Cardinals, to have a canopy held over our headsall the way---- Sh-sh-sh! There's my uncle looking at us!"

Colonel Ferrari had turned round to glance severely at the two youngerofficers. After the solemn event of yesterday morning he was in a devoutand serious frame of mind, and inclined to reproach them with a want ofproper feeling about what he regarded as "a painful necessity of state. "

The masters of the ceremonies began to assemble and place in order thosewho were to take part in the procession. Colonel Ferrari rose from hisplace and moved up to the chancel-rail, beckoning to the other officersto accompany him. When the Mass was finished, and the Host had beenplaced behind the crystal shield in the processional sun, the celebrantand his ministers retired to the sacristy to change their vestments, anda little buzz of whispered conversation broke out through the church. Montanelli remained seated on his throne, looking straight before him, immovably. All the sea of human life and motion seemed to surge aroundand below him, and to die away into stillness about his feet. A censerwas brought to him; and he raised his hand with the action of anautomaton, and put the incense into the vessel, looking neither to theright nor to the left. 

The clergy had come back from the sacristy, and were waiting in thechancel for him to descend; but he remained utterly motionless. Thedeacon of honour, bending forward to take off the mitre, whisperedagain, hesitatingly:

"Your Eminence!"

The Cardinal looked round. 

"What did you say?"

"Are you quite sure the procession will not be too much for you? The sunis very hot. "

"What does the sun matter?"

Montanelli spoke in a cold, measured voice, and the priest again fanciedthat he must have given offence. 

"Forgive me, Your Eminence. I thought you seemed unwell. "

Montanelli rose without answering. He paused a moment on the upper stepof the throne, and asked in the same measured way:

"What is that?"

The long train of his mantle swept down over the steps and lay spreadout on the chancel-floor, and he was pointing to a fiery stain on thewhite satin. 

"It's only the sunlight shining through a coloured window, YourEminence. "

"The sunlight? Is it so red?"

He descended the steps, and knelt before the altar, swinging the censerslowly to and fro. As he handed it back, the chequered sunlight fell onhis bared head and wide, uplifted eyes, and cast a crimson glow acrossthe white veil that his ministers were folding round him. 

He took from the deacon the sacred golden sun; and stood up, as choirand organ burst into a peal of triumphal melody. 

 "Pange, lingua, g]oriosi Corporis mysterium, Sanguinisque pretiosi Quem in mundi pretium, Fructus ventris generosi Rex effudit gentium. "

The bearers came slowly forward, and raised the silken canopy over hishead, while the deacons of honour stepped to their places at his rightand left and drew back the long folds of the mantle. As the acolytesstooped to lift his robe from the chancel-floor, the lay fraternitiesheading the procession started to pace down the nave in stately doublefile, with lighted candles held to left and right. 

He stood above them, by the altar, motionless under the white canopy, holding the Eucharist aloft with steady hands, and watched them as theypassed. Two by two, with candles and banners and torches, with crossesand images and flags, they swept slowly down the chancel steps, alongthe broad nave between the garlanded pillars, and out under the liftedscarlet curtains into the blazing sunlight of the street; and the soundof their chanting died into a rolling murmur, drowned in the pealingof new and newer voices, as the unending stream flowed on, and yet newfootsteps echoed down the nave. 

The companies of the parishes passed, with their white shrouds andveiled faces; then the brothers of the Misericordia, black from head tofoot, their eyes faintly gleaming through the holes in their masks. Nextcame the monks in solemn row: the mendicant friars, with their duskycowls and bare, brown feet; the white-robed, grave Dominicans. Thenfollowed the lay officials of the district; dragoons and carabineersand the local police-officials; the Governor in gala uniform, with hisbrother officers beside him. A deacon followed, holding up a great crossbetween two acolytes with gleaming candles; and as the curtains werelifted high to let them pass out at the doorway, Montanelli caught amomentary glimpse, from where he stood under the canopy, of the sunlitblaze of carpeted street and flag-hung walls and white-robed childrenscattering roses. Ah, the roses; how red they were!

On and on the procession paced in order; form succeeding to form andcolour to colour. Long white surplices, grave and seemly, gave placeto gorgeous vestments and embroidered pluvials. Now passed a tall andslender golden cross, borne high above the lighted candles; now thecathedral canons, stately in their dead white mantles. A chaplain paceddown the chancel, with the crozier between two flaring torches; then theacolytes moved forward in step, their censers swinging to the rhythm ofthe music; the bearers raised the canopy higher, counting their steps:"One, two; one, two!" and Montanelli started upon the Way of the Cross. 

Down the chancel steps and all along the nave he passed; under thegallery where the organ pealed and thundered; under the lifted curtainsthat were so red--so fearfully red; and out into the glaring street, where the blood-red roses lay and withered, crushed into the red carpetby the passing of many feet. A moment's pause at the door, while thelay officials came forward to replace the canopy-bearers; then theprocession moved on again, and he with it, his hands clasping theEucharistic sun, and the voices of the choristers swelling and dyingaround him, with the rhythmical swaying of censers and the rolling trampof feet. 

 "Verbum caro, panem verum, Verbo carnem efficit; Sitque sanguis Christi merum----"

Always blood and always blood! The carpet stretched before him like ared river; the roses lay like blood splashed on the stones---- Oh, God!Is all Thine earth grown red, and all Thy heaven? Ah, what is it toThee, Thou mighty God----Thou, whose very lips are smeared with blood!

 "Tantum ergo Sacramentum, Veneremur cernui. "

He looked through the crystal shield at the Eucharist. What was thatoozing from the wafer--dripping down between the points of the goldensun--down on to his white robe? What had he seen dripping down--drippingfrom a lifted hand?

The grass in the courtyard was trampled and red, --all red, --there wasso much blood. It was trickling down the cheek, and dripping from thepierced right hand, and gushing in a hot red torrent from the woundedside. Even a lock of the hair was dabbled in it, --the hair that lay allwet and matted on the forehead--ah, that was the death-sweat; it camefrom the horrible pain. 

The voices of the choristers rose higher, triumphantly:

 "Genitori, genitoque, Laus et jubilatio, Salus, honor, virtus quoque, Sit et benedictio. "

Oh, that is more than any patience can endure! God, Who sittest on thebrazen heavens enthroned, and smilest with bloody lips, looking downupon agony and death, is it not enough? Is it not enough, without thismockery of praise and blessing? Body of Christ, Thou that wast brokenfor the salvation of men; blood of Christ, Thou that wast shed for theremission of sins; is it not enough?

"Ah, call Him louder; perchance He sleepeth!

"Dost Thou sleep indeed, dear love; and wilt Thou never wake again? Isthe grave so jealous of its victory; and will the black pit under thetree not loose Thee even for a little, heart's delight?"

Then the Thing behind the crystal shield made answer, and the blooddripped down as It spoke:

"Hast thou chosen, and wilt repent of thy choice? Is thy desire notfulfilled? Look upon these men that walk in the light and are clad insilk and in gold: for their sake was I laid in the black pit. Look uponthe children scattering roses, and hearken to their singing if it besweet: for their sake is my mouth filled with dust, and the roses arered from the well-springs of my heart. See where the people kneel todrink the blood that drips from thy garment-hem: for their sake was itshed, to quench their ravening thirst. For it is written: 'Greater lovehath no man than this, if a man lay down his life for his friends. '"

"Oh, Arthur, Arthur; there is greater love than this! If a man lay downthe life of his best beloved, is not that greater?"

And It answered again:

"Who is thy best beloved? In sooth, not I. "

And when he would have spoken the words froze on his tongue, for thesinging of the choristers passed over them, as the north wind over icypools, and hushed them into silence:

 "Dedit fragilibus corporis ferculum, Dedit et tristibus sanguinis poculum, Dicens: Accipite, quod trado vasculum Omnes ex eo bibite. "

Drink of it, Christians; drink of it, all of you! Is it not yours? Foryou the red stream stains the grass; for you the living flesh is searedand torn. Eat of it, cannibals; eat of it, all of you! This is yourfeast and your orgy; this is the day of your joy! Haste you and come tothe festival; join the procession and march with us; women and children, young men and old men--come to the sharing of flesh! Come to the pouringof blood-wine and drink of it while it is red; take and eat of theBody----

Ah, God; the fortress! Sullen and brown, with crumbling battlementsand towers dark among the barren hills, it scowled on the processionsweeping past in the dusty road below. The iron teeth of the portculliswere drawn down over the mouth of the gate; and as a beast crouchedon the mountain-side, the fortress guarded its prey. Yet, be the teethclenched never so fast, they shall be broken and riven asunder; and thegrave in the courtyard within shall yield up her dead. For the Christianhosts are marching, marching in mighty procession to their sacramentalfeast of blood, as marches an army of famished rats to the gleaning; andtheir cry is: "Give! Give!" and they say not: "It is enough. "

"Wilt thou not be satisfied? For these men was I sacrificed; thou hastdestroyed me that they might live; and behold, they march everyone onhis ways, and they shall not break their ranks. 

"This is the army of Christians, the followers of thy God; a greatpeople and a strong. A fire devoureth before them, and behind them aflame burneth; the land is as the garden of Eden before them, and behindthem a desolate wilderness; yea, and nothing shall escape them. "

"Oh, yet come back, come back to me, beloved; for I repent me of mychoice! Come back, and we will creep away together, to some dark andsilent grave where the devouring army shall not find us; and we will layus down there, locked in one another's arms, and sleep, and sleep, andsleep. And the hungry Christians shall pass by in the merciless daylightabove our heads; and when they howl for blood to drink and for flesh toeat, their cry shall be faint in our ears; and they shall pass on theirways and leave us to our rest. "

And It answered yet again:

"Where shall I hide me? Is it not written: 'They shall run to and froin the city; they shall run upon the wall; they shall climb up upon thehouses; they shall enter in at the windows like a thief?' If I build mea tomb on the mountain-top, shall they not break it open? If I dig me agrave in the river-bed, shall they not tear it up? Verily, they are keenas blood-hounds to seek out their prey; and for them are my wounds red, that they may drink. Canst thou not hear them, what they sing?"

And they sang, as they went in between the scarlet curtains of theCathedral door; for the procession was over, and all the roses werestrewn:

 "Ave, verum Corpus, natum De Maria Virgine: Vere passum, immolatum In cruce pro homine! Cujus latus perforatum Undam fluxit cum sanguinae; Esto nobis praegustatum Mortis in examinae. "

And when they had left off singing, he entered at the doorway, andpassed between the silent rows of monks and priests, where they knelt, each man in his place, with the lighted candles uplifted. And he sawtheir hungry eyes fixed on the sacred Body that he bore; and he knew whythey bowed their heads as he passed. For the dark stream ran down thefolds of his white vestments; and on the stones of the Cathedral floorhis footsteps left a deep, red stain. 

So he passed up the nave to the chancel rails; and there the bearerspaused, and he went out from under the canopy and up to the altar steps. To left and right the white-robed acolytes knelt with their censers andthe chaplains with their torches; and their eyes shone greedily in theflaring light as they watched the Body of the Victim. 

And as he stood before the altar, holding aloft with blood-stained handsthe torn and mangled body of his murdered love, the voices of the guestsbidden to the Eucharistic feast rang out in another peal of song:

 "Oh salutaris Hostia, Quae coeli pandis ostium; Bella praemunt hostilia, Da robur, fer, auxilium!"

Ah, and now they come to take the Body----Go then, dear heart, to thybitter doom, and open the gates of heaven for these ravening wolves thatwill not be denied. The gates that are opened for me are the gates ofthe nethermost hell. 

And as the deacon of honour placed the sacred vessel on the altar, Montanelli sank down where he had stood, and knelt upon the step; andfrom the white altar above him the blood flowed down and dripped uponhis head. And the voices of the singers rang on, pealing under thearches and echoing along the vaulted roof:

 "Uni trinoque Domino Sit sempiterna gloria: Qui vitam sine termino Nobis donet in patria. "

"Sine termino--sine termino!" Oh, happy Jesus, Who could sink beneathHis cross! Oh, happy Jesus, Who could say: "It is finished!" This doomis never ended; it is eternal as the stars in their courses. This is theworm that dieth not and the fire that is not quenched. "Sine termino, sine termino!"

Wearily, patiently, he went through his part in the remainingceremonies, fulfilling mechanically, from old habit, the rites that hadno longer any meaning for him. Then, after the benediction, he kneltdown again before the altar and covered his face; and the voice of thepriest reading aloud the list of indulgences swelled and sank like afar-off murmur from a world to which he belonged no more. 

The voice broke off, and he stood up and stretched out his hand forsilence. Some of the congregation were moving towards the doors; andthey turned back with a hurried rustle and murmur, as a whisper wentthrough the Cathedral:

"His Eminence is going to speak. "

His ministers, startled and wondering, drew closer to him and one ofthem whispered hastily: "Your Eminence, do you intend to speak to thepeople now?"

Montanelli silently waved him aside. The priests drew back, whisperingtogether; the thing was unusual, even irregular; but it was withinthe Cardinal's prerogative if he chose to do it. No doubt, he had somestatement of exceptional importance to make; some new reform from Rometo announce or a special communication from the Holy Father. 

Montanelli looked down from the altar-steps upon the sea of upturnedfaces. Full of eager expectancy they looked up at him as he stood abovethem, spectral and still and white. 

"Sh-sh! Silence!" the leaders of the procession called softly; and themurmuring of the congregation died into stillness, as a gust of winddies among whispering tree-tops. All the crowd gazed up, in breathlesssilence, at the white figure on the altar-steps. Slowly and steadily hebegan to speak:

"It is written in the Gospel according to St. John: 'God so loved theworld, that He gave His only begotten Son that the world through Himmight be saved. '

"This is the festival of the Body and Blood of the Victim who was slainfor your salvation; the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sins of theworld; the Son of God, Who died for your transgressions. And you areassembled here in solemn festival array, to eat of the sacrifice thatwas given for you, and to render thanks for this great mercy. And I knowthat this morning, when you came to share in the banquet, to eat of theBody of the Victim, your hearts were filled with joy, as you rememberedthe Passion of God the Son, Who died, that you might be saved. 

"But tell me, which among you has thought of that other Passion--of thePassion of God the Father, Who gave His Son to be crucified? Which ofyou has remembered the agony of God the Father, when He bent from Histhrone in the heavens above, and looked down upon Calvary?

"I have watched you to-day, my people, as you walked in your ranks insolemn procession; and I have seen that your hearts are glad within youfor the remission of your sins, and that you rejoice in your salvation. Yet I pray you that you consider at what price that salvation wasbought. Surely it is very precious, and the price of it is above rubies;it is the price of blood. "

A faint, long shudder passed through the listening crowd. In the chancelthe priests bent forward and whispered to one another; but the preacherwent on speaking, and they held their peace. 

"Therefore it is that I speak with you this day: I AM THAT I AM. For Ilooked upon your weakness and your sorrow, and upon the little childrenabout your feet; and my heart was moved to compassion for their sake, that they must die. Then I looked into my dear son's eyes; and I knewthat the Atonement of Blood was there. And I went my way, and left himto his doom. 

"This is the remission of sins. He died for you, and the darkness hasswallowed him up; he is dead, and there is no resurrection; he is dead, and I have no son. Oh, my boy, my boy!"

The Cardinal's voice broke in a long, wailing cry; and the voices of theterrified people answered it like an echo. All the clergy had risen fromtheir places, and the deacons of honour started forward to lay theirhands on the preacher's arm. But he wrenched it away, and faced themsuddenly, with the eyes of an angry wild beast. 

"What is this? Is there not blood enough? Wait your turn, jackals; youshall all be fed!"

They shrank away and huddled shivering together, their pantingbreath thick and loud, their faces white with the whiteness of chalk. Montanelli turned again to the people, and they swayed and shook beforehim, as a field of corn before a hurricane. 

"You have killed him! You have killed him! And I suffered it, because Iwould not let you die. And now, when you come about me with your lyingpraises and your unclean prayers, I repent me--I repent me that I havedone this thing! It were better that you all should rot in your vices, in the bottomless filth of damnation, and that he should live. What isthe worth of your plague-spotted souls, that such a price should be paidfor them? But it is too late--too late! I cry aloud, but he does nothear me; I beat at the door of the grave, but he will not wake; I standalone, in desert space, and look around me, from the blood-stained earthwhere the heart of my heart lies buried, to the void and awful heaventhat is left unto me, desolate. I have given him up; oh, generation ofvipers, I have given him up for you!

"Take your salvation, since it is yours! I fling it to you as a bone isflung to a pack of snarling curs! The price of your banquet is paid foryou; come, then, and gorge yourselves, cannibals, bloodsuckers--carrionbeasts that feed on the dead! See where the blood streams down from thealtar, foaming and hot from my darling's heart--the blood that was shedfor you! Wallow and lap it and smear yourselves red with it! Snatch andfight for the flesh and devour it--and trouble me no more! This is thebody that was given for you--look at it, torn and bleeding, throbbingstill with the tortured life, quivering from the bitter death-agony;take it, Christians, and eat!"

He had caught up the sun with the Host and lifted it above his head; andnow flung it crashing down upon the floor. At the ring of the metal onstone the clergy rushed forward together, and twenty hands seized themadman. 

Then, and only then, the silence of the people broke in a wild, hysterical scream; and, overturning chairs and benches, beating at thedoorways, trampling one upon another, tearing down curtains and garlandsin their haste, the surging, sobbing human flood poured out upon thestreet. 

EPILOGUE. 

"GEMMA, there's a man downstairs who wants to see you. " Martini spoke inthe subdued tone which they had both unconsciously adopted during theselast ten days. That, and a certain slow evenness of speech and movement, were the sole expression which either of them gave to their grief. 

Gemma, with bare arms and an apron over her dress, was standing at atable, putting up little packages of cartridges for distribution. Shehad stood over the work since early morning; and now, in the glaringafternoon, her face looked haggard with fatigue. 

"A man, Cesare? What does he want?"

"I don't know, dear. He wouldn't tell me. He said he must speak to youalone. "

"Very well. " She took off her apron and pulled down the sleeves of herdress. "I must go to him, I suppose; but very likely it's only a spy. "

"In any case, I shall be in the next room, within call. As soon asyou get rid of him you had better go and lie down a bit. You have beenstanding too long to-day. "

"Oh, no! I would rather go on working. "

She went slowly down the stairs, Martini following in silence. She hadgrown to look ten years older in these few days, and the gray streakacross her hair had widened into a broad band. She mostly kept her eyeslowered now; but when, by chance, she raised them, he shivered at thehorror in their shadows. 

In the little parlour she found a clumsy-looking man standing with hisheels together in the middle of the floor. His whole figure and thehalf-frightened way he looked up when she came in, suggested to her thathe must be one of the Swiss guards. He wore a countryman's blouse, which evidently did not belong to him, and kept glancing round as thoughafraid of detection. 

"Can you speak German?" he asked in the heavy Zurich patois. 

"A little. I hear you want to see me. "

"You are Signora Bolla? I've brought you a letter. "

"A--letter?" She was beginning to tremble, and rested one hand on thetable to steady herself. 

"I'm one of the guard over there. " He pointed out of the window to thefortress on the hill. "It's from--the man that was shot last week. Hewrote it the night before. I promised him I'd give it into your own handmyself. "

She bent her head down. So he had written after all. 

"That's why I've been so long bringing it, " the soldier went on. "Hesaid I was not to give it to anyone but you, and I couldn't get offbefore--they watched me so. I had to borrow these things to come in. "

He was fumbling in the breast of his blouse. The weather was hot, andthe sheet of folded paper that he pulled out was not only dirty andcrumpled, but damp. He stood for a moment shuffling his feet uneasily;then put up one hand and scratched the back of his head. 

"You won't say anything, " he began again timidly, with a distrustfulglance at her. "It's as much as my life's worth to have come here. "

"Of course I shall not say anything. No, wait a minute----"

As he turned to go, she stopped him, feeling for her purse; but he drewback, offended. 

"I don't want your money, " he said roughly. "I did it for him--becausehe asked me to. I'd have done more than that for him. He'd been good tome--God help me!"

The little catch in his voice made her look up. He was slowly rubbing agrimy sleeve across his eyes. 

"We had to shoot, " he went on under his breath; "my mates and I. A manmust obey orders. We bungled it, and had to fire again--and he laughedat us--he called us the awkward squad--and he'd been good to me----"

There was silence in the room. A moment later he straightened himselfup, made a clumsy military salute, and went away. 

She stood still for a little while with the paper in her hand; thensat down by the open window to read. The letter was closely written inpencil, and in some parts hardly legible. But the first two words stoodout quite clear upon the page; and they were in English:

"Dear Jim. "

The writing grew suddenly blurred and misty. And she had lost himagain--had lost him again! At the sight of the familiar childishnickname all the hopelessness of her bereavement came over her afresh, and she put out her hands in blind desperation, as though the weight ofthe earth-clods that lay above him were pressing on her heart. 

Presently she took up the paper again and went on reading:

"I am to be shot at sunrise to-morrow. So if I am to keep at all mypromise to tell you everything, I must keep it now. But, after all, there is not much need of explanations between you and me. We alwaysunderstood each other without many words, even when we were littlethings. 

"And so, you see, my dear, you had no need to break your heart overthat old story of the blow. It was a hard hit, of course; but I have hadplenty of others as hard, and yet I have managed to get over them, --evento pay back a few of them, --and here I am still, like the mackerel inour nursery-book (I forget its name), 'Alive and kicking, oh!' Thisis my last kick, though; and then, to-morrow morning, and--'Finita laCommedia!' You and I will translate that: 'The variety show is over';and will give thanks to the gods that they have had, at least, so muchmercy on us. It is not much, but it is something; and for this and allother blessings may we be truly thankful!

"About that same to-morrow morning, I want both you and Martini tounderstand clearly that I am quite happy and satisfied, and could ask nobetter thing of Fate. Tell that to Martini as a message from me; he is agood fellow and a good comrade, and he will understand. You see, dear, I know that the stick-in-the-mud people are doing us a good turn andthemselves a bad one by going back to secret trials and executions sosoon, and I know that if you who are left stand together steadily andhit hard, you will see great things. As for me, I shall go out intothe courtyard with as light a heart as any child starting home for theholidays. I have done my share of the work, and this death-sentence isthe proof that I have done it thoroughly. They kill me because they areafraid of me; and what more can any man's heart desire?

"It desires just one thing more, though. A man who is going to die hasa right to a personal fancy, and mine is that you should see why I havealways been such a sulky brute to you, and so slow to forget old scores. Of course, though, you understand why, and I tell you only for thepleasure of writing the words. I loved you, Gemma, when you were an uglylittle girl in a gingham frock, with a scratchy tucker and your hair ina pig-tail down your back; and I love you still. Do you remember thatday when I kissed your hand, and when you so piteously begged me 'neverto do that again'? It was a scoundrelly trick to play, I know; but youmust forgive that; and now I kiss the paper where I have written yourname. So I have kissed you twice, and both times without your consent. 

"That is all. Good-bye, my dear. "

There was no signature, but a verse which they had learned together aschildren was written under the letter:

 "Then am I A happy fly, If I live Or if I die. "

 *****

Half an hour later Martini entered the room, and, startled out of thesilence of half a life-time, threw down the placard he was carrying andflung his arms about her. 

"Gemma! What is it, for God's sake? Don't sob like that--you that nevercry! Gemma! Gemma, my darling!"

"Nothing, Cesare; I will tell you afterwards--I--can't talk about itjust now. "

She hurriedly slipped the tear-stained letter into her pocket; and, rising, leaned out of the window to hide her face. Martini held histongue and bit his moustache. After all these years he had betrayedhimself like a schoolboy--and she had not even noticed it!

"The Cathedral bell is tolling, " she said after a little while, lookinground with recovered self-command. "Someone must be dead. "

"That is what I came to show you, " Martini answered in his everydayvoice. He picked up the placard from the floor and handed it to her. Hastily printed in large type was a black-bordered announcement that:"Our dearly beloved Bishop, His Eminence the Cardinal, Monsignor LorenzoMontanelli, " had died suddenly at Ravenna, "from the rupture of ananeurism of the heart. "

She glanced up quickly from the paper, and Martini answered the unspokensuggestion in her eyes with a shrug of his shoulders. 

"What would you have, Madonna? Aneurism is as good a word as any other. "